The Madness of Two
by Lexwing
Summary: *From Harley's POV* A Sequel to "The Ballad of Harley Quinn." Harley tells Poison Ivy about life with the Joker. A tale in twelve parts.
1. Chapter 1

The Madness of Two: A Sequel to The Ballad of Harley Quinn From Harley's POV

Summary: Harley tells Poison Ivy about life with the Joker. A tale in twelve parts.

Author's Note: If you haven't already read "The Ballad of Harley Quinn," you may want to before proceeding. Basically my goal with both stories is to bring Harley Quinn into Christopher Nolan's more realistic take on Batman saga, but to do so from _her_ point of view.

This story operates on two timelines. Harley's conversations with Ivy take place in the present. Harley's flashbacks are to her life with Mr. J. To make it easier for readers, a triple set of lines is used to indicate movement between past and present.

Once again, fans will notice bits and pieces gleaned from Harley's comic and from other publications. However, I am not an expert in DC lore, so any errors/omissions/alterations are entirely my own.

--

Ch. 1: Harley Quinn

The first time I met Poison Ivy was when she slugged me with a metal tray.

It was the tray that normally sat next to the door in Arkham Asylum's common room. It usually held little paper cups filled with brightly colored psychiatric drugs.

Ivy scattered those all over the room when she grabbed the tray.

Luckily for me, it was only made of aluminum.

In fact, my head put a pretty good size dent in it.

Mr. J had always said I had a hard head.

But as I lay on the common room floor I was sure Poison Ivy could still figure out some way to beat me to death with it if she really wanted to. I'd heard she was a pretty resourceful lady.

I threw my hands over my head in case she swung again.

"Hey, I thought your m.o. was poison, not assault," I squeaked.

"I'm improvising," she hissed.

At that moment two orderlies tackled her from behind. I rolled out of the way before she went down.

I'd gotten pretty good at getting out of the way. Call it a job requirement.

--

My name is Harley Quinn.

I'm a criminal.

Some people say I'm crazy.

I'm not, you know.

Just a little off.

Working for the Joker will do that to a gal.

--

I got to my feet, rubbing my backside. It ached a bit from the hard fall.

Arkham Asylum's common room was in an uproar. Not only was it taking two burly men to hold Ivy down, but also several doctors had rushed in to see what the commotion was. A few of the other patients were surreptitiously picking up the pills scattered around the room.

"Let me go!" Ivy hollered as she kicked. "She's a traitor!"

Dr. Rodriquez, Arkham's latest administrator, walked over to me.

"What's all this about, Harley?"

"I have no idea," I pouted. "I just walked in, and Ivy went all Attica on me!"

"Because you're one of _them_," Ivy said from her spot on the floor. "I _remember_ you!"

The guards yanked her to her feet.

"Really? 'Cause I don't remember _you_," I taunted.

"You better watch your back, _Dr_. Quinzel," she told me as they hauled her out of the room. "Watch your back."

"Geez Louise," I groused as I smoothed my orange jumpsuit. Ivy had mussed it all up.

"It's not like I ever treated her or anything. Way to hold a grudge."

Dr. Rodriquez was looked at me strangely.

I arched my eyebrows. "What?"

"I'd forgotten you were once a doctor here," the administrator said softly.

"Ah, ancient history," I said breezily.

The older woman looked serious. "Maybe we shouldn't have let you leave solitary. For your own safety."

"What, because of Poison Ivy?"

I sat down in a rickety orange plastic chair. The common room may have been a new addition to the high-security wing of Arkham. But the furniture was still older than I was. And uncomfortable as all get out.

Still, it was better than sitting in my cell staring at my feet. I'd done that for a couple of months, and, believe me, it had gotten old real fast.

"Ivy doesn't scare me," I told her. "Try going ten rounds with the Batman some time. Then we'll talk scary."

"Harley," she sighed. "What are we going to do with you?"

"That's the sixty-four million dollar question, ain't it, Doc?" I grinned.

--

--

--

I sat curled in an empty concrete drainpipe.

Outside it was pouring rain in Gotham City. A late spring storm had opened the heavens and drenched the earth.

Ever since I was a kid I had loved the way the rain smelled. And after the long weeks incarcerated at Gotham General, it smelled even better than usual.

I was still wearing the uniform I'd stolen from the nurse.

Betty, her name had been. I'd chosen her because we were pretty close in size and coloring. My boobs were a bit bigger, so the white dress pulled across the bust, and I'd already gone through one knee on the itchy support hose she been wearing. But it was a small price to pay.

I had been able to just walk past the security guard outside my door. He hadn't even blinked.

It had been a couple of hours now.

I wondered if they'd discovered the switch yet.

If they hadn't, they would soon.

So I was hiding. I'd found a construction site, standing empty because of the storm. I figured it was a good place to lay low and rest until night fell again. Then it would be safer to move around.

I wasn't particularly sleepy, not after so many weeks in a sedative-induced twilight state. In fact, I felt fantastic—full of energy, as if any moment electricity might start sparking from my fingertips.

I was going back to Mr. J.

Gotham City was a big place, but I _knew_ Mr. J.

I was confident I'd locate him, sooner rather than later.

And wouldn't he be surprised to see me?

What a great joke!

--

I owed Betty for more than just the uniform. I'd found a twenty-dollar bill and a pack of cigarettes in one of the dress' pockets.

When it was dark and the rain had eased a bit, I slipped out of my hiding place.

I was just south of the heart of downtown Gotham. This was a tough part of town, but I wasn't frightened.

I wasn't frightened of anything any more.

I was a new woman.

I was so happy to be alive, and to be free. Everything was wonderful—the bums with rain dripping off their filthy noses; the toughs who eyed me as I walked past; the ancient neon signs that hissed and crackled like angry hens. It was all perfectly lovely to my eyes.

I found a grimy, all-night dinner and treated myself to a cup of coffee and a hamburger. My first solid meal in weeks.

I swapped Betty's pack of cigarettes with the waitress for a ballpoint pen and some quarters. I then went over to the vending machines in the back and bought copies of every one of the evening newspapers. I leisurely perused them while I ate.

I then spread out the papers and circled anything I thought was relevant.

There was a lot to circle.

Joker had been a busy man.

Armed robberies here, the occasional body there. A handful of exposures to Joker venom. All breathlessly reported, along with lengthy editorials about how ineffectual the Gotham P.D. had been at tacking this particular menace.

Yawn.

Yet there had been few actual sightings of the Joker himself. I found that a lot more interesting. To me, it suggested Joker had spent his freedom rebuilding his organization. He now had enough help that he didn't have to take on the smaller jobs himself.

The last time I had seen him he had complained to me about the caliber of people he had to work with. Obviously he'd solved that problem.

Clever Mr. J.

It was a delightfully random pattern of crime.

But it was going to make finding him a little more difficult than planned.

I'd keep my ear to the ground, and my eyes open.

But first, I needed a change of clothes.

--

This part of Gotham's downtown wasn't exactly teeming with boutiques.

It had a few off-brand stores and some clothing stalls, but even those were closed this late at night.

So I chose a charity shop that had left one of its rear windows open a crack. It had been wedged open with a brick, but I had no trouble shimmying through anyway. I'm pretty small.

I was careful to close the window behind me. I kept the brick, balancing it in one hand while my eyes adjusted to the darkness.

It would have been too risky to turn on the lights, but fortunately the storm had ebbed. The moon was now out, and there was just enough light to see my surroundings.

It was a typical thrift store, with rack after rack of dusty clothes and shoes, and mangy toys piled in one corner. Battered sports equipment filled another, and old office furniture, a third. In the final corner was a small office and kitchenette.

I decided to indulge myself a bit and wash my hair in their sink. I had to use dish soap, but it was worth it to get the last traces of the hospital smell out of my hair. I then wrapped a clean dishtowel around my head and went to see what I could dig up for a new outfit.

I wanted something Mr. J might like, but I wasn't sure what. Most of the clothes were so hideous they shouldn't have been worn once, let alone a second time. I did find an old green army bag just the right size to sling across my shoulders, and a little purple nightie I thought would be nice for my reunion with Mr. J.

As for day wear, I was about to give up hope when I finally unearthed an old mini-dress. It was half-black, and half-red, with a vertical seam down the center, and a little white collar. And, glory be, it was 100 polyester. So practical for a woman on the go.

I figured the dress might remind Joker of Harlequin's multi-colored costume. At our first meeting he had named me after the famous clown.

At our second meeting he had tried to strangle me.

Ah. Good times.

I couldn't find any decent shoes that fit, so I was stuck with Betty's ugly black nurses' shoes. I did finally shed the support hose, though.

It felt so much better to let my legs breathe.

With clean hair and a new dress, I felt much more confidant heading back out into the night.

--

"Hey, baby."

I ignored the voice.

It was coming from a pimply-faced teenager with a mohawk. The group of friends around him guffawed.

I was concentrating.

After hanging around downtown for a few days, without even a glimpse of green hair, I'd moved on to the Narrows.

That was riskier, of course, because it put me close to Arkham Asylum. But I figured there was few other places in Gotham Joker could be so well concealed.

I'd always made sure to lock my car doors before crossing into the Narrows. I'd never paid any attention to what happened here.

I can't say I had missed much.

The Narrows had never really recovered from the Scarecrow's attack almost three years earlier. Few people actually lived here any more. But there was still plenty of action at night. Most of it was the illegal, illicit kind. And, with the Batman himself apparently lying low, most of it went undetected.

So far everything I'd seen had been small-time stuff. Nothing even approaching Mr. J's level. I had pretty much decided to move on again. But to where?

"C'mon, baby," the punk said again. "Yeah, I'm talkin' to you, blondie."

More laughter. They were getting on my nerves. Couldn't a woman hunt for her lost love in peace?

"Take a hike, junior," I snapped. "I'm not interested in whatever you're selling."

"Oooh, she's tough," one of the other punks, a taller one with a nose ring, offered. "You gonna let her talk to you like that, Spike?"

"Yeah, are you?" The third asked. This one had a shaved head and a t-shirt that read 'I'm the Batman.'

Yeah, he wished.

Spike puffed out his thin little chest.

"Hey, bitch, nobody talks to me like that."

I almost laughed.

Across the street a man and woman glanced over at us, and quickly scurried away. Off to illicit activities of their own, I guessed. Oh, well.

Emboldened by testosterone and what smelled a bit like airplane glue, the three toughs circled around me. The tall one gave me a shove.

"High and mighty, ain't she?"

Mr. Bald Head gave me a shove from behind.

"Yeah, thinks she's too good for us."

I sighed.

What would Mr. J do? I asked myself.

I swung my green shoulder bag back, hard, and heard it connect with a sickening crunch.

Did I neglect to mention I'd put the brick in there?

Well, I had.

The bald-headed one shrieked in pain.

I didn't bother to turn.

Instead I reached out and grabbed a hold of the tall one's nose ring.

One good yank was all it took.

Blood spurted from his nose, and his whole face went white.

I tossed the tiny gold hoop away, a chunk of skin still imbedded inside it.

"Oooh," I told him. "That's going to need some stitches."

I took a menacing step forward. "I'm a doctor, you know. I think I've got a needle here, somewhere…"

I reached into my purse.

That was all it took.

He bolted away down the street.

The one who had started it all—Spike—now slunk backward a bit.

"Jesus, you crazy bitch," he laughed nervously. "It was just a joke."

"A joke?" I repeated.

"Trust me," I said with a smile. "You don't know the first thing about jokes."

I kicked out with my gymnast's legs and connected with his solar plexus, knocking the air out of his lungs.

He went down with a grunt and a thud.

"Dude, help me!" He screamed at his one remaining ally.

"She doke my nobe!" The other one just squealed, his voice thick with blood. "She doke my nobe!"

Spike tried to crawl away from me, but I had the advantage.

I stepped on his belly.

He stopped moving and stared up at me in sheer terror.

"Lady, I'm sorry, OK? Oh, god, please don't kill me!"

It hadn't occurred to me to kill him. But I thought it was pretty funny anyway.

I laughed and laughed.

That only scared him more.

"Please…please…I'll give you anything you want…"

I was going to let him go, but then I noticed his boots.

Lovely, shiny, leather boots, the kind that came all the way up to his knees. The kind with a steel plate over the shin and a buckle over the instep. Must have cost his mommy and daddy a pretty penny.

And I _did_ need better shoes.

I bent down.

I smiled.

"I like your boots," I told him.


	2. Chapter 2

The Madness of Two

Author's note: Avid fans will note some of the dialog lifted from _Batman: Harley Quinn_. What can I say--it's a classic!

Ch. 2: Mr. J

One morning in Arkham I woke up feeling extra gloomy.

I missed Mr. J.

Heck, I missed men in general.

The asylum was technically co-ed, but policy dictated that the men and women were housed in separate wings. Only on the higher-security levels were men and women housed on the same floors. I guess the logic was that it would be easier to keep an eye on us if we were all in once place.

Even then, the only time we high-security inmates met one another was in the common room.

And, boy, the pickings were slim in there.

To cheer myself up, that morning in my weekly therapy session I took a page out of Mr. J's playbook. I mixed up all my stories. One moment I was telling the young psychologist how sadistically cruel Joker had been to me, and the next I was claiming that I'd never even met the man.

It was fun to watch different expressions dart across the therapist's face as she frantically wrote and re-wrote her notes.

She was young, not much older than I'd been when I was first hired at Arkham.

I'm sure I must have served as sort of a cautionary tale for the asylum's staff.

I was fine with that.

Finally she gave up and allowed me to move on to what they called "free time." I wasn't considered an extremely high-risk inmate, so I was allowed to have a limited amount of freedom when I wasn't in my cell. Since it was a sunny day outside, I decided to go out into the central courtyard.

When the Arkham family had lived here this had been a space for garden parties and socializing. Now, however, it many served mainly as a short cut between the different wings of the asylum. When I had been on staff it had been an exceptionally bleak space, with gravel strewn over muddy ground and the high walls of Arkham blocking out most of the light.

I was pleasantly surprised to find that, in my absence, the courtyard had been transformed. It was now a garden again, and by all appearances a thriving one. But it wasn't the sort of Victorian garden the Arkham family might have had. It was much more freeform, with all sorts of plants running amok. They overflowed their beds, climbed up the asylum walls, and generally ran riot.

I liked it.

The fresh air made me feel a bit better, at least until my path was blocked.

"What the hell do you want?"

I glanced up to find a tall redhead in my way.

She was still in her orange prison jumpsuit. It clashed horribly with her hair. But she also had on gardening gloves and held a plastic watering can.

Poison Ivy.

Damn.

I had been avoiding her ever since our confrontation in the common room. It hadn't been hard. Ivy was considered far more dangerous than me, and so she was only allowed out of her cell for two hours a day.

But now I was stuck.

"You're not going to hit me again, are you?" I asked.

"Just answer the question," she said menacingly.

"Well, I was feeling a little blue, so I thought a bit of outside time might cheer me up."

I leaned over and sniffed at the nearest outcropping of greenery. "Ahhh. Nice."

"That's a tomato plant, you airhead."

"Oh. I thought it smelled kinda like a salad." I glanced around me again. "You did all this, huh?"

"Yeah." She held her arms close to her body. "So?"

"I like it. It's nutty. Perfect for an asylum."

"I didn't plan it this way, you know." Her expression softened a bit. "Plants just do what they do."

"Sorta like the inmates," I mused.

She shrugged. "I never thought about it that way."

I decided this was a good opening.

"Listen, Ivy, I never treated you when I was a doctor here. So I don't get why you're mad at me."

Her green eyes glittered. "You're still one of _them_."

"Uh, in case you haven't noticed, I'm wearing orange now, too."

I had tried to spiff up my jumpsuit by rolling up the sleeves and the pant legs, but to be honest it wasn't much of an improvement.

Maybe it wasn't a bad thing that there weren't any good-looking men around.

She snorted. "You're only here because that freakish buffoon tricked you into letting him out."

"Hey, now. Mr. J never tricked me into doing anything. I let him out because I wanted to."

"Sure you did."

"No, really."

"Right. And I suppose you went back to him because _you_ wanted to?"

I chewed on my bottom lip.

Had I?

Had that been how it had happened?

--

--

--

The body was lying in the middle of the street.

A crowd had already gathered around it. No police were on the scene, not yet. After all, it was sunset in the Narrows. Any officer with any brains would be miles away.

I edged my way through the crowd.

A large, heavily tattooed man blocked my path.

"You don't want to see it, sweetheart," he said, not unkindly.

"It's all right," I told him. "I'm a doctor."

He looked at me a bit strangely. He'd probably never seen a doctor in a mini-dress and combat boots. But he let me pass.

When I reached the spot I kneeled down.

"What happened?"

The passersby looked at each other. People in the Narrows weren't used to sharing information.

Finally one of the streetwalkers tossed back her head, making her enormous earrings jangle.

"He was pushed out the back of a moving car. I seen it."

"It's horrible." A dumpy woman in an oversize cardigan shuddered. A shopping cart holding all her worldly possessions was parked at the curb.

"Worse than what you see in the papers," a man added.

And it was.

Up close and personal, the effects of Joker venom were horrible, indeed. The mouth and eyes were fixed open, the lips and even the gums an unnatural red color. The rest of the face appeared as white as if it had been drained of blood. The fingers were curled into claws.

Fascinating.

I'd have to ask Mr. J how the stuff worked.

"I heard on the news that Wayne Industries has an antidote now. They're giving it out for free to all the hospitals," another observer offered.

More for show than anything else, I felt for a pulse. There wasn't one, of course. I was no toxicologist, but this had been a massive dose.

Mr. J had wanted this guy dead, _tout de suite_.

And so he was dead.

"He's beyond help now, I'm afraid." I stood.

The old woman crossed herself, and even the hooker looked appropriately sad.

"What kind of car was it?" I asked.

The younger woman snapped her gum. "Huh?"

"You said you saw the car. What kind was it? Where did it go?"

She huffed. "What are you, a cop?"

I took hold of her upper arm, squeezing the muscle and sinew tightly under my hand.

"Just answer the question, sister."

"You're hurting me." She tried to pull away, and, when she couldn't, stared at me for a moment.

"Jeez, OK. It was an old Cadillac. It barely slowed down to dump the guy and then took off down toward the river." She gestured vaguely downhill. "Happy?"

I let go. "You have no idea."

I hurried away into the darkness.

"Hey, where are you going?" The old woman called after me. "It isn't safe down there at night!"

"Let her go," I heard the prostitute say. "She deserves what she gets."

And she was probably right.

--

I pushed open the door to the bar.

It hadn't taken long to find.

This stretch of the river front was home only to crumbling warehouses and a few businesses that trafficked in human misery: bail bondsmen, pawn shops, and the like.

This time of night only this bar had its lights on. And even if the Cadillac hadn't been parked down the block I would have known this was the right place.

Its sign swung back and forth in the slight breeze. I suppose the name had originally been chosen as a tribute to the product that had helped establish Gotham's port trade a century earlier. But now it stood out to me for another reason.

The bar was called The Laughing Fish.

Inside it took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the smoky darkness.

It was an exceptionally shabby place, even by waterfront standards. A few battered tables and chairs took up what little floor space was available. There wasn't even a pool table or a pinball machine. But the floor was sticky with beer and probably worse, if that counted for anything.

What a dump.

Immediately half a dozen men rose to their feet.

The biggest one, a bald man who was easily a foot taller then me, took a step forward.

"You're in the wrong place, sweetheart," he told me. There was not an ounce of friendliness in his voice.

Nor, I judged, was there any brains.

I didn't let him scare me.

I smiled politely and cleared my throat.

"I am here to see Mr. J," I announced.

Several of the men laughed rudely.

I believe I heard someone mutter something that sounded like 'crazy bitch.' Or maybe it was 'masy stitch.' As I said, he wasn't enunciating properly.

"Get out of here," a greasy-haired man in a leather jacket told me.

Several of them were moving towards me now.

"Nope. 'Fraid I can't do that," I offered cheerfully. "Not until I've spoken with Mr. J."

And then, like balm for my weary little soul, I heard his voice.

"The voice is familiar, but I can't say I recognize the outfit."

Joker stepped out of the shadows at the back of the room.

I was pleased to see that he so looked well. Freedom clearly agreed with him. His hair was green again, and the white make-up looked freshly applied. He even had a new purple suit.

All of his men were now looking at him, waiting to see what he would do.

He eyed me suggestively as he walked forward. Then his expression grew more serious.

"I have the strangest feeling we've met before," he finally said.

My laugh was full of joy.

"'Course we have, Mr. J."

And then someone had to go and spoil the moment.

The man closest to me pulled out his gun and pressed it against the side of my head.

I could feel the cold barrel though my tangled hair.

"Okay, playtime's over, cookie," he snapped. "You want me to snuff her, boss?"

Quick as a wink I grabbed his gun hand, jamming my finger in the trigger guard so he couldn't fire.

With my free hand I swung my purse like a club.

"Excuse me, but no one's talkin' to you!" I told him.

The brick inside the purse connected with the henchman's forehead.

His eyes rolled back in his head and he dropped like a stone.

My actions sent up outraged shouts from the other men.

But Joker gleefully clapped his gloved hands.

The men immediately felt silent again. They eyed their boss nervously.

"I'd recognize that bedside manner anywhere," Mr. J laughed. "It's dear, daffy, Doctor Quinzel, run away to join my own little circus!"

"You remember, Mr. J!"

I was so excited I momentarily forgot myself. I rushed forward and flung my arms around his neck. I even stood on my toes and tried to kiss him.

He immediately put up a hand to block me.

"Not in front of the henchmen, Harley."

"Oh. Sorry."

He pushed me away. "Do that again and I'll slice off your eyelids."

"Yes, Mr. J." I stepped back obediently.

I beamed.

I had Mr. J back. Everything was going to be fine.

--

The bar, it turned out, was not a regular stop on Mr. J's route. In fact, he explained to me later that evening, it had been pure chance that I had found him there.

I knew better, of course. I knew it was fate.

Joker's real hideout was indeed along the river, but further south.

He took me there.

His henchmen came along too, including the one I'd smacked. His name was Rocco. He was holding an ice pack to his head and staring at me murderously. The others didn't look much happier about my presence.

But I didn't care.

I liked the hideout, and told Mr. J so. It was an old warehouse that someone had been converting into lofts. There was still broken scaffolding around the building, and crumbling drywall stacked in the stairways. But there was also running water and electricity in a few places.

Joker had staked out the corner of one of the upper floors.

It wasn't much of a home. Its only furnishings consisted of a lab table covered with chemicals, a battered mattress shoved in a far corner, and several chairs and sofas that looked like they'd been scavenged from street corners. Someone, probably Joker's men, had decorated the white walls with layers of graffiti, most of it insulting each other's mothers.

"It has potential," I told Mr. J. "Why didn't they ever finish the building?"

"The project was a front for the mob," he explained patiently. "They did just enough work to get some major investors on board, and then they dumped the job. Kept the money, of course."

"Of course," I nodded.

"And with Gotham's real estate prices in the dumpster no one else came along to claim it. So I did."

"Very sensible."

It even had a little kitchenette tucked in one corner. The counters were covered in empty pizza boxes.

Mr. J smiled at me, and then glanced over at his men.

"You can go now, boys. I need to speak to the doctor."

They looked at each other. No one had the courage to argue.

"Uh, yeah, boss."

"Sure."

Rocco glared at me from under the ice pack. "Whatever you say, boss."

I must confess I breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind them.

Mr. J stepped close to me.

I thought of the nightie in my bag. This wasn't exactly the Gotham Metropolitan Hotel, but I supposed it would have to do.

I smiled expectantly.

But he only laid his hands on either side of my head.

"Dr. Quinzel," he said softly.

He held my face tightly in his gloved hands, tipping it first one way, and then the other, as if he was trying to get a better look at me.

"No, I take it back," he finally said. "I don't see Dr. Quinzel anywhere. Where did she go?"

"I don't know," I said honestly. "But _I'm_ still here."

"So you are. My little _tabula rasa_. And what shall I do with you, Harley Quinn, hmm? What shall I make you into?"

"What do you mean?" I asked him.

He pulled me closer, indicating with his hand his own face--the Glasgow smile, the makeup.

"You think all this just happened? Oh, no. That's not it at all."

He smiled proudly.

"You see, I _willed_ myself into being. I am my own creation, and there is only one of me. There will only ever be one of me. Which brings me back to my original question."

His right hand pulled harder on my hair, tipping my head back farther.

"What shall I make _you_ into?"

"Whatever you want," I answered honestly.

He mused silently for a moment.

"Will you be whatever I tell you to be?" He finally asked. "A thief? A whore?"

"Yes. I'm yours."

He squeezed me still harder, and his eyes gleamed.

"But, you see, I didn't _ask_ for you, Harley. I was quite happy all on my own. Now you've landed in my lap, so to speak, I need to make some decisions about your future."

I wasn't sure what to say. This wasn't exactly the warm welcome I'd hoped for. But then, with Joker you never knew if you were going to get candlelight and roses, or a bullet in the head.

That was half the fun.

"I have nowhere else to go. So you do what you think is best, Mr. J."

He laughed. I felt his body relax a bit.

"That's a good girl," he told me.

He let go of my hair and patted me on top of my head instead.

"You might be OK, kid," he said casually.

He turned away.

"Just stay out of my way when I'm working, and be ready to do what I tell you, and maybe I'll let you live."

Did he mean live generally, or live here? I decided not to risk asking for clarification.

"Yes, Mr. J," I said.

--

I woke up with a start.

Early morning sun was poking through the loft's shattered windows.

I was completely alone.

And, no, Mr. J and I had not consummated our relationship the night before.

I had done my womanly best, changing into the purple nightie and posing quite provocatively on the lumpy mattress, but to no avail.

He was working on something with his chemicals, and ignoring me. He had seemed completely immune to my charms. Damn him.

I had finally fallen asleep, only to awake in the middle of the night to find him next to me.

And, no, we didn't do it then, either.

He was sleeping, breathing steadily, and I hadn't had the heart to wake him. So I had just snuggled up against him and gone back to sleep myself.

And now he was gone again. Off to do nefarious deeds, no doubt. Bless him.

I wanted to have a special welcome for him when he got home. After all, he had taken me in and given me a new home.

I decided to make him breakfast.

That was easier said than done. There was nothing but beer in the fridge. Well, there were also some jars of unidentifiable neon-colored liquids in there, too. But I highly doubted they were food.

Lucky for me someone had left a handgun on the counter. It was a Smith and Wesson, and little bit too big for my small hand, but it would do. I packed it in my purse and set off.

The Narrows wasn't quite so ugly this morning. The sun was shining, and I had Mr. J back in my life. I was a happy gal.

A few blocks away I found a bodega that was already open. It was a rather unhygienic-looking place that probably catered to longshoreman. But I picked up my little basket and went to work, filling it with good things for Mr. J. I stuck mostly to the processed stuff that would have a nice long shelf life in our new home. But I did pick up a carton of eggs and a loaf of bread from the cooler in the back of the store. I wanted Joker to have a hot breakfast today.

When I got to the counter the bleary-eyed clerk looked at me wearily. "Yeah?"

"Ring it all up. Paper bags, please. Got to be environmentally conscious nowadays, don'tcha know."

He rolled his eyes, but did as I said.

"That'll be 47.50," he finally told me.

"Owwy. That's your best offer?" I pouted.

"Look, lady, this ain't no auction house. You don't want the food, you don't gotta take it."

I pretended to contemplate this for a moment. "No, you're right. I've got hungry men folk at home wanting their vittles."

"Whatever."

I reached into my purse and produced the gun.

His mouth dropped open, so wide I'd swear it almost hit the counter. Just like in the cartoons.

"Lady, what the hell…? You're holding me up for forty bucks worth of groceries?"

"Yep."

I smiled politely and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet whizzed past his ear and into the cans of trendy carbonated energy drink behind him. He shrieked as they sprayed sticky orange soda all over him.

The clerk dropped to the ground. He was cussing a blue streak, too. I think maybe he thought I'd hit him.

Oh, well.

I picked up my bags. "Nice doing business with you."

And I headed home.

--

When Mr. J and the henchmen arrived home an hour later I had breakfast waiting for them.

It hadn't been easy, given the limitations of my new kitchen. But I'd scrambled up all the eggs and toasted the bread over Mr. J's Bunsen burner.

"Come and get it, while it's hot," I chimed loudly.

They were all staring at me. Silly boys.

I pointed to the table, which I had cleared off and set as best I could.

"You've been gone since before the sun was up," I reminded them. "Aren't you hungry?"

Finally, the biggest one, the bald one—Buster, I think, was his name—shrugged.

"I could eat."

I beamed at him. "Of course you can."

I went around to the head of the table and pulled out a chair. "Sit here, Mr. J."

He did as I asked. With a little grumbling the henchmen sat down on the remaining mismatched chairs.

I squeezed in next to Rocco, so I could be next to Mr. J.

For a moment no one said anything.

"Yeah, well, I guess the worse she could do is poison us," Rocco then said loudly. He reached for the bowl of scrambled eggs.

I immediately jabbed my fork into the table, just by his left hand. He yelped and let the bowl clatter back down.

"Mr. J gets served first," I said sweetly.

Rocco was staring at me. "Geez, you missed my hand by, like, an inch!"

"Half an inch," I corrected. I passed the bowl to Mr. J.

Joker accepted it graciously.

"No fighting at the breakfast table, kiddies," he told us as he spooned some eggs onto his plate. "And pass the toast."

I smiled.


	3. Chapter 3

The Madness of Two

Ch. 3: Lewis

Ivy and I had reached a sort of uneasy truce.

I could tell she still wasn't exactly crazy about me.

I wasn't that crazy about her, either. After living with the Joker, whose mind was so incredibly flexible that he was never the same person two days in a row, Ivy seemed awfully rigid.

Heck, I'll be honest—the women had a major stick up her butt.

I had never been much for ideology of any kind. Every time she launched into one of her "protecting Mother Nature" speeches I either tuned out or rolled my eyes.

Ivy had her own internal logic for everything. Every action she had taken—the people she'd poisoned, the damage she'd done—had been in defense of helpless plants. And that made it OK.

Cuckoo, if you ask me.

But we were the only two women currently in the high security wing at Arkham. And that gave us something in common.

We sat together in the recreation room, and sometimes she let me help her in the garden. Only with really basic stuff, of course—watering, moving things around. She didn't trust anyone else with her "babies," as she called them.

"Hey, Ivy," I asked her one morning as I was kneeling next to her in a vegetable patch. She was trying to teach me the difference between a plant and a weed.

"Does Arkham's Board of Governors know you've put a botanical garden in their asylum?"

She looked up at me, a headless dandelion in her fist. "Of course they know. I had to get permission, didn't I?"

"And they went for it?"

"Sure. It's part of my rehabilitation."

"Oh, come on. That would be like giving me shaving cream, whoopee cushions, and a Glock as part of _my_ 'rehabilitation.'"

"You're the shrink, Harley. You know all the psychobabble about gardening being therapeutic. Besides, it will give them something to show off when they're fundraising."

"Now, that, I get," I nodded. "I'm sure donors would rather look at your garden than at us."

Ivy sat back on her heels. "Exactly."

I looked around me.

The garden _was_ beautiful. Its lush growth and twining vines were undoubtedly impressive. But it was also intimidating. Ivy had not created a tidy little hospital garden at all. This was living, breathing ecosystem that clearly had a life of its own.

Intimidating but beautiful. Like Ivy herself.

"I'm going to call you 'Red' from here on out," I said abruptly.

She stared at me. "What?"

"'Red.' That'll be your nickname."

"I don't need a nickname."

"Friends need nicknames."

"I'm sorry, are we friends now?"

I smiled. "Well, sure. We're hanging out right now, aren't we?"

"I suppose," she said stiffly.

"You'll be Red. And you can call me…"

She stood and brushed the soil off her hands. "'Harley' is fine."

"Well, yeah, I guess so. That's the name Joker gave me. Only when he said it, it was usually more like," I took a deep breath, "'HAR-Leeeeee!'"

I did such a good impersonation of Mr. J. angrily yelling my name that I saw something I never expected to see.

Ivy laughed.

Just a little one, and it was quickly gone.

But it had been a laugh.

"Some of Mr. J's henchmen used to call me 'Harl.' You can call me that, if you want," I offered generously.

She snorted. "Joker has henchmen?"

"Look, Red, just 'cause you're a solo act doesn't mean everyone is." I winked. "Besides, how do you think Mr. J got so much done?"

--

--

--

"So is this what it's going to be like, Harley?"

I was sitting on the edge of the table, watching patiently while Mr. J mixed up chemicals in a beaker. I liked watching his deft movements, and the liquids changing color as they were heated and cooled.

"What what's going to be like, Mr. J?"

"You. Following me around like a puppy."

I tried to hide my hurt. I'd only been a here a few days. Was he already getting tired of me?

"Of course not, Mr. J. I'm here to learn."

He set down the beaker and regarded me seriously.

"Learn what?"

"Whatever you're willing to teach me."

Almost against his will he looked intrigued. His tongue flicked absently at the corners of his red-stained mouth.

"We'll see, Harley. We'll see," he finally said.

"Hey, boss."

One of Joker's men, the one called Lewis, had arrived. He set down a heavy box on the table.

"Hey, Harley," he offered, eyeing me cautiously.

It was still progress. I beamed at him. "Hello, Lewis."

"I got everything on your list," Lewis told Joker. "Buster and Sam are still down at the warehouse, like you said. If you don't need me here, I'm gonna head uptown now."

I had no idea what the Joker was planning. I hadn't asked for details, and he hadn't offered any. I just listened politely.

"Good. Take Harley with you."

"Uh, sorry, boss?"

"You heard me. Take her with you, show her the ropes." Mr. J turned back to his work. "And keep her out of trouble," he added absently.

Lewis' dusky complexion had paled a bit. He didn't look happy, but he nodded.

"Sure thing, Joker." He gestured vaguely at me. "Let's go, then."

"OK." I leaned over and kissed Mr. J goodbye. "I'll be back in time to fix dinner," I promised.

He ignored me.

Lewis and I left the deserted complex and walked a few blocks down to the river. There he had stashed a car, a brown four-door sedan. It was so incredibly ordinary in appearance even the best of cops wouldn't have given it a second glance.

I jumped in the passenger seat, happy as a clam.

During the long nights, as I had lain awake, frustrated and listening to Mr. J's breathing, I had realized something.

I knew absolutely nothing about being a criminal.

I mean, yeah, I'd proved I could build a mean bomb if I had set of downloaded instructions in front of me. But that and a strong right hook were about my only assets.

If I wanted to stay with Joker, and I did, I was going to have to learn to pull my weight around here. And since so far he had not seemed inclined to teach me anything, I figured his henchmen were a great place to start.

A few of them were just ordinary thugs, kids off the street. There wasn't anything they could teach me I wanted to know. But Lewis—Lewis interested me.

Joker trusted Lewis. Or at least he trusted Lewis more than anyone else in his outfit.

And Lewis always seemed ready and able to carry out whatever set of orders Mr. J gave him. That meant he trusted Joker, too. Lewis feared him, of course, but there was definitely some trust mixed in there as well.

This was someone I could learn a lot from.

--

We pulled into downtown Gotham just as the lunch hour was ending. Lewis found a parking space in front of a dry cleaner.

"Here," he handed me a small duffle bag. "You carry that," he told me, in a tone one might use on a small child.

I nodded and watched as he unpacked a metal briefcase. Together we crossed the street and entered a brick building that had seen better days. Unlike the shiny skyscrapers around it, this one housed dingy offices. The hallways smelled like cat piss.

It looked deserted.

We took the creaking elevator up to the ninth floor, and then walked up another flight of stairs to the roof.

I wondered idly if we were going to shoot someone. That would explain the briefcase and duffle bag.

But instead Lewis simply walked over to the edge of the roof and set everything down. He gestured for me to do the same.

Lewis sat down and opened the case he carried.

I leaned over eagerly, only to see that it contained a pair of high-powered binoculars and a video camera.

I tried to stay out of the way while Lewis worked. It turned out there was a stubby tripod in the bad I carried.

The camera was set up with its lens aimed at the door to the building across the street. This building was newer and much glitzier, with an elaborate glass entrance and a pink granite façade.

Fortunately, because of its design it didn't have any upper windows, so no one could see us.

Even so, Lewis stayed crouched down, close to the surface of the tar paper roof. I tried to emulate him.

I read the sign across the street aloud.

"'Paresghian Developments, Ltd.' What does Mr. J want with developers?"

The camera was now recording everyone who exited and entered the building. I held the binoculars in my lap until Lewis indicated I should hand them to him.

As he peered down he finally answered my question.

"They're not developers. Paresghian Developments, Ltd. is a dummy corporation. They're arms dealers. They also launder money, that kind of thing. At least that's what Joker says, and he's always right about this sort of thing."

"So Mr. J is after the money?"

"Nope. Joker's after the arms."

I thought this over for a moment.

"That makes sense, I guess."

Lewis grinned at me. "Uh huh. See, what we're doing here is observation, laying the groundwork. What the guys on the other side call a stakeout. Who's coming, who's going, and what are they bringing in with them?"

"You're looking for a pattern," I observed.

He looked genuinely pleased. "You got it. Once Joker knows the pattern, he'll know what to do next. See, most people have this idea that Joker—'cause he's Joker—doesn't plan at all. But it's exactly the opposite."

"Of course Mr. J plans," I said huffily. "He loves to plan. He has a gift for it."

"Yeah, Harley, he sure does. He sure does."

--

A few hours passed.

We waited and watched.

Lewis and I took note of everyone who arrived. A lot of them just looked like ordinary office drones, the type you'd find in any business in the city. But a handful of them were different. These men pulled up to the entrance in flashier cars, and the doorman always moved extra fast to greet them.

With the binoculars I could see their expensive suits, and the gold rings gleaming on their fingers. Lewis said these were the men Mr. J wanted to know about.

By the late afternoon things had slowed down, and we sat with our backs propped against the brick ledge of the parapet.

"Hey, Harley," Lewis finally spoke. "I gotta ask you something."

Lewis had answered all my questions honestly and with a surprising amount of candor. So I figured I owed the same courtesy to him.

"Sure. Lewis. What is it?"

"Well, I heard that you were…" He looked apologetic. "That you'd been Joker's doctor in Arkham."

I smiled. "Guilty as charged."

"So you went to college and everything?"

"Sort of goes with the territory."

He looked genuinely puzzled. "Then, girl, what the hell are you doin' here? And why are you acting like…like...June Cleaver on an aphrodisiac?"

"Ooh, I always loved June Cleaver. Such style. Anyone who can vacuum in high heeled pumps is OK by me."

Lewis rolled his eyes. "Never mind."

"No, Lewis, I get your question. But I'm not sure I have an answer. It's the impenetrable mystery of the human heart," I said sentimentally. "Who can explain it?"

"Uh huh," he said skeptically.

I smiled again. "How about you, Lewis? You got a girlfriend?"

"Yeah. She and my kid live in another city."

"Lewis, you have a kid? That's great! Boy or girl?"

"A little boy." He looked at me closely. "But keep that on the QT, all right? We never talk about our families."

"Top secret, Lewis. My lips are sealed."

I sat quietly for a moment.

"Let me ask _you _something now, Lewis. How long have you worked for Mr. J?"

"'Bout a year, I guess. I used to work for another guy. A Chechen. Drug dealer. Nasty piece of work. Joker took over his territory not long before he went to Arkham. I guess he sort of…inherited me."

"Don't sell yourself short, Lewis," I counseled. "Mr. J is an excellent judge of character. I'm sure he wouldn't have kept you on if you hadn't been an asset to the organization."

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Most of the other guys who worked with the Chechen…we'll, let's just say they aren't exactly breathing any more. And before that I was just a small-time hood. B and Es…"

"What?"

"Breaking and entering. And stealing cars, all that shit."

"Oh. But you still came back to work for Mr. J once he was out?"

"Yeah, of course. I mean, there's a lot of things about Joker I don't get…" He shot me a look. "Well, I'm sure you know a lot more about all of that than I do. But the pay's always good. I'm saving up to buy my girl a house."

"Good for you. Ambitions in life are very important."

I was thoughtful.

"I'd like to get me and Mr. J a nicer place. I mean, we're sleeping on the floor, for crying' out loud. He deserves better. I'll have to see what I can do about that."

Lewis was looking at me funny again. "Sure, Harley. If you say so."

"I do say so." I studied the toes of my boots for a moment.

"Hey, Lewis?"

He sighed. "Yeah?"

"Would you teach me how to steal a car?"

--

And he did.

Later that afternoon, as soon as he'd decided we'd collected as much information as we were going to get that day, Lewis took me out to a deserted parking garage on the south side. He had me practice on the beat up brown sedan he was driving.

"This isn't your car, is it, Lewis?" I asked as I jabbed repeatedly at the door lock. Lewis had loaned me the little pick he always carried, but the work was more finicky than I had anticipated.

"Hell, no. I wouldn't buy a hunk of junk like this. This is strictly a business vehicle. Here, move aside and let me show you again."

He had the door open in less than a minute.

"There. Hey, how did you manage to break Mr. J out of Arkham if you can't pick a lock?"

"Oh, that," I said modestly. "I made a bomb."

"You what?" His eyes goggled.

I held up my hands. "Just a little one. About yea big."

"Jesus, you're as crazy as he is," Lewis mumbled.

"Thank you."

I succeeded on my third try.

Lewis said I was a natural, because I had small fingers.

Actually hotwiring the engine was even easier. Turned out it was just a question of finding the correct wires, and twisting them together in the right configuration.

"I don't know why people just don't steal cars all the time," I marveled as I listened to the engine splutter and rumble.

"This is Gotham City, Harl. People do."

I laughed. "Yeah, I guess you're right. And as soon as I see something that strikes my fancy, I'm going to steal it."

"Nah, you don't want to draw too much attention to our operation here. Joker wouldn't like that. He wouldn't like that one bit."

I sighed.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." I held the pick out to Lewis. "But as soon as Mr. J says it's OK, I will. Maybe a motorcycle. I always wanted one."

Lewis glanced down at my hand.

"You keep the pick, Harley. I can always get another."

I grinned. "Thank you, Lewis. You're an upstanding guy."

He chuckled. "Yeah, well, don't spread that around."

--

I returned to the loft in much better spirits than when I had left.

Joker had gone out; there were only a couple other henchmen sitting around, playing cards. They looked up when I came in with Lewis, but didn't greet me.

I didn't mind.

"Lewis, let me fix you something to eat. I got enough groceries the other morning for an army."

"Thank you, Harl. That would be real nice."

Lewis sat down on one of the grubby sofas. He smirked at the astonished looks on the faces of the other men.

I made a nice thick sandwich and tucked it away in the back of the fridge for Mr. J. Then I made a second one, and brought it over to Lewis with a napkin.

"Looks good," Lewis smiled.

"Wait, I'll get you a cold beer, too."

While I had my head in the fridge I heard one of the other men speaking to Lewis.

"Jesus, man. What the hell did you _do_ to her?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lewis flip him the bird.

Lewis gratefully accepted the beer I offered him.

I gave the man who'd made the rude comment a stony glare. He hastily looked away.

The huge, bald-headed henchman, Buster, was not so cowed.

"Hey, can I have a beer, too?"

"'May' I have a beer?"

"Huh?"

"'May I.' Not 'can I.' I don't know—are you off duty? I don't think Mr. J would like you drinking while you're working."

"I'm off duty, Harley. Honest."

I decided Buster didn't really have the brains to lie to me.

"OK then. One more beer, coming up."

I decided that was enough socializing for one evening. After I gave Buster his drink I took one for myself and went out onto the unfinished balcony.

Even though the door separating the rest of the loft from the balcony had never been finished, it was still a nice little area. From here you could see the garbage scows moving slowly up and down the river, and the cranes off-loading bright yellow and orange shipping containers from different boats.

The sun was just beginning to set. The normally muddy river water was pink and gold.

Plastic sheeting had been tacked to the unfinished exterior of our building. It had been left behind when the project had been abandoned, and now billowed on either side of the balcony. I thought it gave the place a festive air.

I liked it here.

I nursed my beer and watched the sunset, daydreaming about what might be.

"Harley!"

I'd recognize that voice anywhere.

"Coming, Mr. J."

I rushed back inside, to find that Joker was standing in the main room, waiting patiently for me.

I couldn't help but notice that the tension in the room had ratcheted up several levels. It seemed to be radiating off the henchmen, particularly the younger ones who had probably heard too many stories about Mr. J.

I imagined they were all waiting to see how Joker would behave.

I wasn't frightened.

I did try to embrace Mr. J, but he batted my hands away.

"Did you behave yourself today, Harley?" He asked instead.

"I did, Mr. J."

He slid a glance over at Lewis. "Lewis?"

"She was a big help, Joker."

Mr. J stared hard at Lewis for a long moment. Then he laughed.

"Clever Harley Quinn." Joker reached over and tugged on a lock of my hair. He then wrapped it around his fist. "In that case, I have something for you, Harley."

"Are you going to need us again tonight, boss?" Lewis asked. He was looking from Joker to me and back again. He was frowning. ""Cause, otherwise…"

But Mr. J didn't even glance at him. He kept his eyes fixed on me.

"Go on then. All of you. Out you go."

The henchmen seemed genuinely relieved to be ushered safely out of Joker's presence with all their limbs still intact.

"Bright and early tomorrow, Lewis," the Joker added.

Lewis paused with his hand on the doorknob.

"We'll all be here, Joker. Buster and I'll make sure of it."

The door closed.

Alone. Finally. Thank god.

Mr. J was rubbing my hair between his fingers. The pale gold stood out against the purple glove.

"You always wore your hair up in Arkham," he observed absently.

I smiled. It was nice when Joker remembered something.

"I was trying to look older," I explained.

"Hmm."

He let go of my hair and sat down. He patted his knee, and I went to him willingly.

I don't think I had sat in anyone's lap since I was a very small girl. There was something cozy about it.

But it was also intensely intimate. This was the closest he'd let me get to him, at least when he was awake, since I'd arrived. I curled my small body around his like a cat.

"Here."

He held up a small package. It was wrapped in crumpled orange tissue paper.

I opened it eagerly. Inside the box was a knife.

It was a switchblade, with a mother-of-pearl handle and silver trim. I gently touched the button, and the blade sprang free. It glittered in the fading evening light.

"Oh, it's beautiful," I breathed.

"Be careful with the blade, Harley," Mr. J cautioned me. "I sharpened it myself."

As if to prove his point he took the knife from my hand and laid it against my cheek.

I could feel the razor-sharp edge just sitting on the surface of the skin.

I waited for a long moment to see what he would do.

But he just held it there.

He was looking at me strangely again, as he had during our first meeting at Arkham.

As if he wasn't sure what he was looking at, or if he liked what he was seeing.

I smiled patiently up at him.

Finally he lifted the blade away and snapped the knife closed.

"Always have it with you, kiddo," he counseled as he gave it back to me. "You'll need it."

"I will," I promised. For want of anywhere else to put it I slipped it down my front of my dress. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said absently.

I raised my body up and kissed him again.

This time he didn't pull away.

It was the first real kiss—the first proper kiss—we'd had since the first time he'd kissed me, in the asylum.

_Was it worth the wait?_

_Oh, yeah._

And since I was in his lap, basically straddling him, it was quite obvious that he wanted to do more than kiss.

_Thank god everyone else had gone home._

But just as I was getting really carried away, he pulled my hands from his shoulders.

"That's enough, Harley."

"Huh?"

In the haze of passion his voice sounded as if it was a million miles away. And his body wasn't lying—his body clearly didn't feel like it was enough. Not yet, anyway.

Mr. J tried to push me away from him.

I refused to let go.

He then gave me a shove, hard enough that I actually fell off the couch and landed on the floor.

I was so breathless all I could do was lay there and stare up at him in confusion.

"I said 'that's enough,' Harley," he said calmly as he stood up. "I have work to do."

He left me lying there, trying to figure out what had happened to the man I had been passionately kissing moments before.

But that was Mr. J for you.

Always full of surprises.


	4. Chapter 4

The Madness of Two

Ch. 4: Joker's Plan

I dutifully served my apprenticeship with Joker's henchmen.

As you might guess, I enjoyed my days with Lewis the most. Lewis was an absolute font of useful information and instructions, from how to adjust the grips on a gun to fit your hand perfectly to how to spot a cop on the take.

The other henchmen weren't so helpful. For example, once or twice Mr. J sent me out with Buster. Talk about boring. Buster was stealing things, but I never knew what. He only ever let me be the lookout.

I think there were still some hard feelings between the henchmen and myself. It probably stemmed from that first meeting at the Laughing Fish.

Oh, well.

I was still learning a lot.

But it wasn't until a cool evening, about a month after I'd arrived, that Mr. J's plan finally moved forward.

At first I didn't sense anything unusual was about to happen. I suppose I had thought that, when the time came, Joker would sit us all down around the table and lay out his scheme. Like they did in the movies.

But, instead, everyone just sort of got to their feet, pulled on their coats, and headed for the door as one.

I put down my nail file. Just because I was on the run from the law didn't mean I intended to let my personal grooming standards slip.

"Hey, where's everybody going? Can I come?"

Nobody answered me.

That made me mad.

I rushed forward and plunked myself down on the floor in front of the exit.

"What now?" Mr. J asked me.

"I'm not happy," I pouted. "Whatever's happening, I don't want to be left behind."

Joker laughed and pulled me to my feet. "Silly Harley Quinn. Of course you're coming with us. We need you."

My heart melted a bit.

I'll admit that by now I was desperately hungry for any attention from Mr. J. _You_ try sharing a bed with the man you love for a month without getting any and see what kind of shape _you're_ in.

I beamed at him now. "You need me?"

"Of course I do, Harley." He smiled his wide and terrible smile. "You're going to be the bait."

---

I swung my purse back and forth as I walked toward the corrugated steel doors of the warehouse.

I was on the other side of downtown Gotham, a stone's throw from the Knights Dome arena. There were no games on tonight, though, so the area was deserted. I'd walked past a veritable forest of riverside warehouses before selecting this one. It was the size of a small airplane hanger, but otherwise entirely ordinary.

There was a camera mounted over the rolling doors. I could see that it was tracking my movements.

When reached the normal-sized door to the right I rapped on it smartly.

"Hello?" I called out.

When there was no response I stepped back and waved at the camera. "Hello? Can you help me?"

Finally the door opened a crack. A large man in a leather jacket peered out at me.

I didn't give him a chance to speak.

"Oh, thank goodness—listen, my car broke down a few blocks away and I just can't get decent cell phone reception here." I reached into my purse and produced the offending phone, flipping it open so the thug could see there was no signal.

"Have you got a land line I can use? Please?"

He grunted. "Look, lady…"

"Oooh, I know it's really inconvenient but I've been walking for, like, forever, and there are no businesses open or anything. I just need to call a tow truck. Please." I widened my eyes. "I just don't think it's safe for a girl to be out here on her own."

I chewed my lip while the man thought it over.

"Yeah, all right," he finally said grudgingly.

"Thank you, thank you!" I gushed, darting past him into the warehouse.

I was in a long narrow hallway. Doors to the left opened out into what was clearly the main space, but I obediently followed my savior past them and to an office at the rear of the building.

Four other men were there, already on their feet. I could see the bulges of guns under their jackets. There was some sort of control panel at the far end of the room. The television was on and it looked like a card game had been in progress when I'd arrived.

"Vittorio, what the hell…" One man began, only to be waved off by my escort.

"She just needs the phone, Omar."

Another eyed me closely. "Halloween already, huh?"

I didn't dignify that with an answer. Mr. J himself had done my makeup, whitening my skin and eyebrows and applying layer after layer of sooty black eyeliner. I looked like the unholy offspring of Joan Crawford and Lon Chaney.

I loved it.

"The phone?" I repeated politely.

"Did you at least check her bag?" Another man asked.

Vittorio looked chagrined. "Uh…no."

The tension in the room suddenly jumped several notches.

Omar circled around behind me.

I smiled nervously. "Look, I don't know what the big deal is, but if you want to search my purse, you can go right ahead."

I took off my shoulder bag and held it out.

Vittorio looked at it skeptically.

"Honest. Go ahead, and then I'll make my call and be out of your hair," I promised.

He reached out with a meaty paw, but I made sure the bag slipped right through his grasp. It landed at my feet, spilling its contents. A dozen or so small silver orbs, about the size of dimes, rolled out of it and across the floor.

"Oopsy," I said sweetly.

"What the…" Omar asked.

The chemical in the spheres reacted with the air in the room, and smoke began to rise from them.

The effect was immediate. The men began to choke and gasp. I hadn't bothered to ask Mr. J what was in his homemade gas bombs, but it seemed to be doing the trick.

I reached down to my bag and pulled out the small mask Mr. J had given me. His instructions had been very clear. Timing was going to be everything.

And it was. I slipped it over my mouth and nose just as Vittorio crashed to the floor. His four friends quickly followed.

Breathing slowly and rhythmically under my mask I went over to the panel. It turned out to be a security consol with monitors, including the camera feed that must have announced my arrival. The cameras inside the main part of the warehouse showed several large, military-style trucks, each covered with a tarp.

I hit buttons until I saw the steel doors roll up, providing outside access to the warehouse.

I then went out into the hallway so I could safely remove my mask.

Gotham City municipal trucks were pulling up outside the now-open warehouse. I don't know how we had managed to lay their hands on so many city vehicles (even a dump truck), but we had.

Lewis was the first to jump down. He immediately waved to Buster and the others to follow him.

Silently and methodically they began transferring boxes from the army trucks into the new ones. They worked as a well-oiled machine, with Mr. J directing, of course. I remembered what Lewis had said to me that first day, about what a good planner Mr. J was. Now that I could see the plan come together I must admit I was terribly proud of Mr. J. Surely no other gang could work with such efficiency.

I went to stand next to Rocco. He'd driven Mr. J here in the old Cadillac. But neither of us wanted to get in Joker's way while he was working.

"No problems?" Rocco asked me.

"Nope."

"Good." He shot me a sideways smile.

Joker's timing had been, of course, impeccable. He'd caught the arms dealers before they'd been able to unload their latest shipment. The steel boxes carried print in several different languages, indicating that the plunder came from armies all over the world.

I hoped at least some of it was from the States. After all, until three months ago I'd been a law abiding citizen. It would be nice to get some of my taxpayer dollars back.

The last box had been moved and our trucks were already pulling away before the first sign of trouble appeared.

I was expecting the Gotham P.D.

But it was instead several top-of-the-line SUVs, complete with chrome wheels and blackout glass. They came speeding up the street, swinging wildly as they were nearly hit by our exiting vehicles.

A split second later the windows on the lead SUV rolled down and gunfire spit out.

Fortunately the shots went wide, the bullets burying themselves in the steel warehouse walls.

"That would be our cue," Joker calmly announced.

We didn't need another hint.

I followed Mr. J, Rocco, and Lewis as we ran for our car.

Rocco slipped behind the wheel and I leaped in beside him. We were already speeding off before I was completely seated.

Our trucks had turned right on the main road. We now turned left.

To my surprise, one of the vehicles quickly spun around and followed us. Whoever was in it continued to fire at us.

Joker and Lewis, in the backseat, had guns, but I had left mine at home. All I could do was slouch down in my seat and hope I didn't get hit by anything.

"Some people are sore losers," Mr. J complained as bullets whizzed over his head. He did not seem surprised, or even particularly concerned. He just casually fired back over his shoulder.

"Keep your head down, Harley!" Lewis encouraged. He braced himself against the back of my seat to steady his aim. I could hear the metallic _clang_ as bullets connected with the grill of the SUV.

Rocco was driving wildly, trying to shake our pursuers, but to no avail. Every turn we made they were right behind us.

I saw signs for the Sprang Bridge.

Rocco was heading for Old Gotham. The streets there were narrow; many of them one-way. It would be an ideal place to lose another vehicle.

The car thudded across a railroad grate and took a hairpin turn on two wheels.

"Eeep!" I covered my eyes.

"Once we're across the bridge we'll lose 'em," Lewis shouted as he returned fire.

Peeking through my fingers I suddenly saw Rocco slump forward.

Without thinking about it I grabbed the edge of the steering wheel with one hand and Rocco's shoulder with the other.

His head flopped backward and then forward again, like a ragdoll's.

He was dead.

A bullet had entered at the base of his skull. It must have been a small caliber weapon—I saw no exit wound—but the damage was still catastrophic.

He was definitely, definitively dead.

But his foot was still jammed against the accelerator. And the speedometer was edging up close to eighty miles an hour.

"Harley!" Mr. J shouted.

I had no idea what he wanted me to do.

"I'm on it!" I shouted back.

I held tightly to the wheel and reached past Rocco's limp body to the driver's side door. Mentally I apologized to him, one last time, for hitting him with that stupid brick the first time we had met.

I then popped the door open and gave the body a shove.

It tumbled out. The car behind us swerved to miss it.

I then jumped into the driver's seat and slammed my own foot back down on the accelerator.

The Cadillac fishtailed wildly while I struggled to get it under control.

I could hear Lewis swearing colorfully in the backseat.

Now I was driving, but the interruption had allowed our pursuers to gain on us. The SUV rammed hard into our back bumper, almost causing me to miss the turn for the bridge.

"Drive faster!" Lewis yelled at me.

"I'm driving as fast as I can!" I yelled back. "And I don't appreciate the criticism right now!"

We climbed the ramp to the Sprang Bridge, but they were still right behind us. The flat expanse of the bridge spread out before me, but we weren't going to make it to the other side before we were rammed again, or shot, or both.

I couldn't let them hurt Mr. J. I couldn't.

_I wouldn't._

I had an idea.

"Hang on!"

With one last burst of speed I managed to pull a few hundred yards ahead. As soon as I did I yanked the wheel hard, to the right, so the Cadillac spun in an almost perfect circle.

The SUV slammed on its brakes so fast I could smell the melting rubber of its tires.

I sat very still, panting, listening to the engine idling.

"Harley?" Lewis' voice came against from the backseat. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Trust me, Lewis."

I gunned the engine a few times so the SUV would know I meant business.

Then I popped the car back into gear and floored it.

The SUV flashed its lights at us and then surged forward as well.

I aimed the Cadillac, all Detroit steel and chrome, right at the oncoming vehicle.

Its headlights grew bigger and brighter.

I wasn't afraid.

_I wasn't going to let them hurt Mr. J._

A split second before impact, the SUV finally figured out that I wasn't going to stop. It swerved out of the way, but too far to the left.

It lost control and hit the barrier.

At the speed it was traveling its momentum carried it right over, and into the river below.

I stopped the car. The engine shuddered.

Lewis' head appeared above the seat again. He was still swearing, but softly now.

Mr. J laughed.

It was one of his rare, genuine laughs. He laughed and laughed until both Lewis and I were staring at him.

Somewhere in the distance I heard sirens.

"From now on," Mr. J announced, "Harley drives."

And after that, I always did.

---

Later that evening, after I'd finally pried my shaking hands of the steering wheel and Lewis had departed to, in his own words, "get so drunk I'll forget I ever met you," Mr. J and I went up to the roof of the hideout.

It was spring in Gotham City now, moving into summer, and the wind from the river was just cold enough to make my skin tingle.

"What are you going to do next, Mr. J?" I asked him as we stood gazing out of the city. "What are you going to do with all those weapons?"

"I haven't decided yet. I supposed I'll sell some of them, and keep the rest. You never know when a grenade launcher will come in handy."

"No, you don't," I agreed.

"You know, Harley, I always feel a bit down after we've pulled off a caper, even one as successful as this one." Joker seemed unusually thoughtful tonight. He wasn't even pacing around in his usual manic way.

"That's only because you like to be challenged," I counseled. "You'll come up with an even more outrageous plan for the next heist, and then you'll feel better."

"I suppose. Look at Gotham out there." He held out his gloved hands to encompass the view of downtown and beyond. "So much havoc to be made, so little time."

He sighed.

"Come here, Harley."

I did as he bade. He laid his hands on my shoulders and faced me southwards, towards the river.

"What am I looking for, Mr. J?" I asked.

"Just a little surprise I left behind for the Gotham P.D."

I understood now that we were facing in the direction of the warehouse we had robbed. I opened my mouth in surprise.

"You left a bomb? Do you think the cops found it in time?"

Joker shrugged. "Who cares?"

I stood on my toes. "I don't see anything."

"Wait for it, Harley."

I heard the blast before I actually saw it. The concussive wave seemed to momentarily silence everything around it, and then I saw the upwards burst of smoke and debris.

Flames lit the horizon, like sunrise, only darker red.

I laughed and clapped my hands.

"It's beautiful, Mr. J," I said earnestly. "It really is."

His chose that moment to pull me to him and kiss me.

I believe it was the first time, since Arkham, that Joker had been the one to reach out to me and initiate physical contact, instead of the other way around.

And this time he meant business. One hand twined in my hair, forcing my head backwards as the kiss deepened. The other one slipped under my skirt, against my thigh.

You'll forgive me if I'm a bit old fashioned here and spare you most of the details. But we did finally consummate our relationship there and then, with sirens echoing in the distance and the moonlight turning the whole world silver. In fact, we consummated it twice there, and once again downstairs in our own bed.

When I was finally allowed to go to sleep, you can believe I was a very happy woman, indeed.

---

---

---

"Stop right there." Ivy held up her hands. "Too much information!"

The two of us were sitting at a table in Arkham Asylum's common room. I was flattered that she was willing to sacrifice any of her time with her garden to hang out with me.

No matter how much she insisted she only needed plants, I think Red was really kind of starved for human companionship. I'd felt the need for the two of us to do some old fashioned female bonding, so I'd been telling her about my first heist.

"See, that was the whole thing with Mr. J," I now said to Ivy.

She arched her auburn brows. "What was 'the whole thing'?"

"Sex."

I must have said it a bit too loudly, because the pudgy man at a nearby table spluttered, "I beg your pardon?"

"Put a sock in it, Cobblepot," Ivy snapped. "No one's talking to you."

She turned back to me. "You mean it was all about sex?"

"No, I mean it wasn't about sex at all."

Ivy took a sip of her tea. "I'm trying to follow you, Harley, but…"

"Don't get me wrong—we had sex. Lots of sex."

Ivy's patrician nose wrinkled in distaste. It had become clear to me over the last few weeks that Ivy had an exceptionally low opinion of men in general. It was clear she, too, had been burned badly in the past. She hadn't shared any details with me. But she didn't need to.

"But I guess what I'm saying," I continued, "is that sex doesn't drive him the way it does other men."

"Sex drives _all_ men," Red scoffed.

"Not Mr. J," I said smugly. "There isn't another man in the whole wide world like him."

"And thank god for that," Ivy said tartly.


	5. Chapter 5

Remember. the only thing Harley and I like better than gin and tonics is feedback. So go on and click that little button. You know you want to.

The Madness of Two

Ch. 5: The Batman

Arkham's not such a bad place. It does start to grow on a person after awhile. Like mold. Or like one of Ivy's weeds. _Ha ha_.

But I will say making friends with Poison Ivy was one of the wisest choices I could have made. Not only did it give me someone to talk to, but she scared the stuffing out of the other inmates. When I was with her we always got to go straight to the front in the chow line, and we automatically got the best seats in front of the television in the common room.

We were watching the nightly news one evening when a segment on an unsolved local bombing came on.

I immediately sat up straight in my chair.

Ivy just rolled her eyes.

"It isn't him," she told me.

I thrust out my bottom lip mulishly. "You don't know."

"C'mon, Harley, look at the footage." She pointed a finger at the screen. "Most of that building is still standing."

I leaned back with a sigh. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Now, if it had been Mr. J…"

"'Mr. J, Mr. J,'" Ivy mocked in a high voice before dropping down into her normal tone. "I am so _sick_ of hearing about that loser!"

"You don't know him! And for your information I don't sound all squeaky like that."

"C'mon, Harley."

"What?"

She looked at me seriously. "Everybody knows Joker used to smack you around. And yet you still sit there defending him."

I didn't immediately respond. Instead I pulled my knees up to my chest and thought for a moment.

"Look, Red," I finally began. "You're my friend and all, so I know you mean well. Mr. J and I were…complicated. And I don't want to talk about that right now."

Ivy looked almost sympathetic. "You're going to have to face up to it sooner or later, Harl. It wasn't all moonlight and roses with him, and you know it."

"Hey, Red," I laughed. "Thanks for that."

"For what?"

"You just called me 'Harl.'"

She looked thoughtful.

"Huh. I guess I did."

I smiled widely.

"You're a pal, Ivy. You really are."

---

---

---

The front doors to Debenhem's Fine Furnishings were just closing when I slipped through them.

The only salesman on the floor, a stout, short man, looked over at me. He glanced at my red and black dress and my messy hair and frowned.

"I'm sorry, miss. We are closing for the evening. We will reopen at nine A.M. tomorrow morning."

"That's OK. You'll want to do business with me. Trust me."

I snapped my fingers.

Buster and Moe came through the doors, closing them carefully behind them.

Both men were body builders with criminal records, absolute hulks of humanity. The salesman's eyes widened with fear at the sight of them.

"Wha—what do you want? I'll have you know that I don't have access to the safe."

"Safe, schmafe. I'm here to shop," I said cheerfully.

I went past the rows of sofas until I found the mattresses.

"Ah, yummy."

I jumped up on the first one. "Nope, too hard."

I leapt onto the next one. "Nope, too soft."

"Miss, please." The salesman was trailing after me, trying to keep several yards between the henchmen and myself. "Please don't jump on there. Your feet…"

"What about my feet? I left my boots in the car." I held up one bare foot and wiggled my toes at him.

"I have to test them out, don't I?" I continued. "I'm shopping for a very important person, a very discerning person. He takes beds very seriously. I've got the crick in my back to prove it. Ba bum bum."

The salesman turned several different shades of scarlet.

"I don't know who you people think you are," he blustered in outrage. "But Debenhem's is the oldest continuously operating store in Gotham City. We've furnished Wayne Manor, both the old one and the new, City Hall, the mayor's home…"

I ignored him and hopped onto the next bed. My toes sank into the plush top.

"Hey, this one's nice."

Instinct seemed to momentarily get the better of our sales associate. "That is a hand-tufted mattress filled with 100% virgin wool from New Zealand. The company only makes a dozen or so a year." He sounded as proud as if he's sheared the wool himself.

I jumped up and down a few more times.

"Nice. I'll take it." I stepped down. "Moe, if you would?"

The big man reached out and flipped the mattress off its base and onto his back. He headed for the door.

The salesman squeaked in horror.

"Moe's not really his name, of course." I winked conspiratorially. "I just call him that because Mr. J says once you start learning their names you get all attached."

I was still a bit sad about Rocco. The newspapers had said that his body had been recovered by the cops, identified, and returned to his parents in Kalamazoo. I kind of missed him.

But onward and upward.

I reached down the front of my dress and produced the wad of bills Mr. J had given me. I tossed them in the air, so they rained down across the exclusive furnishings.

"That should cover it."

"Hey, Harley. Check it out."

Buster was pointing at a wall-mounted plasma TV on a nearby wall. The sound was off, but we could see news helicopter footage of what appeared to be a police pursuit in progress.

"I told Joker to wait until I got home so _I_ could drive. _Men_," I groused. "They just never listen."

"J-Joker?" I didn't think it was possible for a human being to go from beet red to chalk white so quickly, but evidently it was. The salesman swayed a bit on his feet.

I shot him an irritated glance. "Of course. Who else around this town drives a purple Cadillac? And that's _Mr._ Joker to you."

Buster was still pointing. "Can we have it, Harl?"

"What, the TV? I dunno." I glanced over at our unwilling sales person. "How big is that thing, anyway?"

"52 inches," he croaked.

"Things are crowded at our place as it is," I protested.

But Buster looked so hopeful I didn't have the heart to say no.

"Oh, all right. But you have to hook the darn thing up."

"Cool." With his meaty arms Buster reached out and yanked the television off the wall. Sparks flew as the wires tore, but he cheerfully hoisted the now-dark screen under his arm.

It was more than the salesman could bear. He fainted.

I peered down at him and nudged him with a bare toe. He didn't stir.

"Huh. I thought people only keeled over like that in the movies." I shrugged. "Well, you learn something new every day."

Feeling magnanimous, I fished several more bills out of my bra and tucked them into the unconscious man's lapel.

"The commercials are right," I observed to Buster and Moe as we bundled our finds out the door. "You really do get great service here."

---

I made it my special mission to keep Mr. J as content as possible while we all waited for him to come up with his next plan.

The new bed helped, although he still never slept for more than an hour or two at a time, no matter how hard I worked to wear him out. Often I would wake up in the middle of the night to find him pacing, like an animal in its cage, back and forth in the darkness.

Sometimes he'd deliberately wake me up to keep him company. I'd sit in his lap and try to stay awake while he stared at the television, not really seeing it, not really seeing anything except whatever was going on in his own head.

I fixed all his meals (I'm not that bad of a cook, honest) and tried to keep the henchmen out from underfoot as much as possible. Even Lewis and Buster tip-toed around the loft.

Without the murder, the mayhem, the pursuit of the perfect joke to keep him occupied, Joker grew bored. And a bored Mr. J was a very dangerous Mr. J, because that was when he thought up some of his most outrageous ideas.

For instance, it was during this time that he came up with a way to load Joker venom into one of those corny squirting flowers you could buy at magic shops. Unfortunately he chose to test it on one of the henchmen when we didn't have any antidote in the house.

I came home to find the stiff on my clean floor, and Mr. J nowhere to be seen.

Like I said. _Men_.

---

He finally announced that he'd come up with a plan by pushing me out of bed in the middle of the night.

"What did you do that for?" I complained, pushing myself up off the hard concrete of the floor. "I was asleep."

"Yes, I know." He was throwing on his clothes. "I've been trying to wake you for the last five minutes. It's like trying to wake the dead."

"You know all about that, do you?" Stifling a yawn, I wriggled back into my discarded dress.

"Don't get cute, Harley," he cautioned, his tongue flicking again at the scars next to his mouth. I knew that to be a sign he was either excited or agitated about something.

He grabbed my hand and virtually towed me across the room to his improvised lab.

I stared down at the table, strewn with beakers, vials, and crumpled pieces of papers.

"Uh, am I missing something here, Mr. J?"

"I wanted to show you _this_."

On the paper he held up was a diagram. It seemed to show something with multiple moving parts, each neatly labeled. To be honest, I had no idea what it was. Just that it was something he'd been hunched over for weeks, muttering to himself under his breath. I often wondered if the Joker—or rather, whoever the Joker had been before he became the Joker—had been an engineer or a chemist or something. Of course I knew there was no point in asking.

But it's important to be supportive, so I clapped my hands and smiled. "You've figured it out?"

"I have."

"I knew you would. You're the smartest man I ever met, Mr. J."

"Smart enough that I should have realized a week ago what was missing. That's what came to me just now. I need a base, something to trigger the right reaction. Otherwise you've just got acid and fizz and a lot of bang for no bucks. Scary, but not," he waved his hands in the air for emphasis, "_dramatic_ enough."

"Of course," I said sagely.

"And," Mr. J said triumphantly, holding his diagram aloft, "I know just where to find it."

---

It was well after midnight when we pulled up to Ace Chemicals' storage facility on Gotham's southside.

Thanks to Joker's little escapade on the evening news, the police were now looking for the Cadillac. So Lewis has stolen an SUV for us to use while a chop shop modified Joker's car into something new.

I liked the SUV. It lacked that certain Joker style, but it had heated seats and extra cup holders.

Buster hopped out of the back seat and cut open the chains holding the fence closed.

We drove right through.

"No security?" I asked Mr. J as I pulled the car to a stop in the shadows.

"Only the electronic kind. They save the actual guards for the manufacturing plant up in Old Gotham." He was pulling on his gloves as he spoke. "Let's go."

We all followed him around the side of the building. It was early summer now, breezy and warm even in the darkness. In a few more weeks Gotham City would be stifling under a blanket of heat and pollution, but for now the sky was clear.

There was no moon to light our way, just the flashlights Buster and Lewis held. The two henchmen, and myself, were the only help Joker had been willing to bring with him tonight.

We paused just to the left of the featureless door, where a large security panel on one side blinked ominously.

Mr. J held out his hand. "Buster, if you would?"

"Sure thing, Mr. J." Buster reached into the bad he carried and produced a small spray can, the kind that usually carried oil or graphite spray.

Joker nudged me to one side, and spritzed the panel.

On contact the substance hissed and bubbled, the acrid smell of melting plastic filling the air. A moment later sparks began to shoot out as the wires inside were eaten away.

Once the sparks died down, we all looked at Joker expectantly. But he waited, patiently, for another few minutes.

"There." He pointed to the closest corner of the building.

The security camera mounted there had abruptly stopped moving.

"How long do we have, boss?" Lewis asked as he pulled out his gun and cautiously edged open the door.

"The acid will have damaged the backup security system as well. The computer will then send a signal up to the main plant, but I give it an hour before anyone bothers coming down to investigate."

Reluctantly I followed the men inside. At least now I did have my own gun, a small .22 that I kept tucked into the top of my stockings. I fingered the grip, but didn't know if I should take it out or not. I wasn't a very good shot. Yet.

The inside of the warehouse, lit only by our flashlights, was nothing but crate after crate stacked to the ceiling. We wandered down between rows so high our beams of lights wouldn't reach all the way to the top.

"If this were the movies," I said in a stage whisper, "I'd bet the Ark of the Covenant was in here someplace."

Lewis shushed me.

"What are we lookin' for, boss? More guns?" Buster asked hopefully.

"Yes, I always come to a chemical warehouse to look for guns," Joker retorted. "Stop trying to think, Buster. You'll give yourself an aneurism."

Buster just looked confused.

As usual, Mr. J seemed to know where he was going. He led us to a far corner, where a smaller area had been cordoned off with more chain link. Another spritz of acid, and we were though those gates as well.

The boxes here were smaller, and much more carefully stacked. They bore labels attesting to largely unpronounceable compounds inside. Among the only words I recognized were "ammonia" and "potassium cyanide."

I stuck close to Mr. J's back. "Ace Chemicals makes _cyanide_?" I asked him.

"Oh, yes," he said absently while he and Lewis checked the other boxes. "And remind me to take some of that when we go, will you, Harley?"

He thumped his fingers against another box. "Ah. Here we are."

I read the label aloud. "Rubidium hydroxide."

Buster squinted. "That what you needed, boss?"

"Yes," Joker smiled. He held his hands a few feet apart.

"_Boom_," he said. "I would have settled for Lithium hydroxide, but this is even better. And I want all of it, so off you go."

Lewis, Buster, and I dutifully began hefting boxes and carrying them back to the car. Mr. J followed us, not carrying anything, of course, just humming happily to himself and watching us work.

We were on the last load when he suddenly fell silent. He stopped moving so fast I nearly walked right into him.

"Mr. J? What's wrong?"

"Quiet," he hissed. "Nobody move."

Lewis and Buster, boxes in their arms, froze. They stared at him.

I glanced around me at the dark interior of the warehouse. I didn't see or hear anything different.

And yet, something _was_ different. It was as if the very air itself had grown darker, heavier. A space which had seemed perfectly ordinary now seemed heavy with menace.

Joker wheeled around, peering about as if he was seeing something we were not.

Maybe he was.

He lifted his semi-automatic and pointed it into the rafters.

"Move," he ordered us. "Now!"

It all happened so fast I was really only able to process what happened later.

Joker started firing the gun towards the roof, at the same time moving backwards towards the door. Bullets ricocheted off the steel beams and back at us, making Buster, Lewis, and I dive for cover.

Several of them plowed into nearby boxes.

The heat from the bullets was enough to ignite them. They burst in colorful clouds of dust and flame—pink, green, blue. The spreading chemicals carried the flames rapidly across the floor to new sources of ignition.

And into the flames dropped a huge figure, dark and terrible, with slits for eyes and leather for skin.

I'd seen the Batman in the flesh, so to speak, before. But now, in the midst of the smoke and the flames and Joker's wild cursing and random firing, it was as if Hell itself has conjured him.

Momentarily too frightened to move, I cowered against the floor.

Lewis recovered first and ran for the door. Buster was right behind him.

But Mr. J stood his ground. I'd never seen him looking quite so wild, nor so focused.

He kept shooting at Batman until he ran out of bullets. Then he tossed the empty gun aside and produced a knife from inside his coat.

The Batman dove at him.

In was at that point that Buster grabbed me under the arms and hauled me out of the way, and out of the building.

"Stop, stop!" I cried and kicked all the way outside.

Both Lewis and the car were gone.

"You wanna die, Harley?" Buster yelled back.

I wriggled out of his hold and jumped to my feet, heading again for the door.

Buster grabbed hold of my arm to try and stop me, but I yanked away.

"I won't leave Mr. J!" I screamed at him.

I bolted back through the doorway.

In the few minutes I'd been outside the flames had already spread across the floor and were steadily licking their way up the walls. Everywhere the chemicals had been spilled the flames burner hotter, brighter.

But the two men in the center were oblivious to the inferno.

The Batman and Joker were still fighting.

My Joker is no slouch when it comes to fisticuffs, but the Batman easily outweighed him by a hundred pounds. And the Dark Knight had that black suit of armor, to boot. Hardly fair.

I'm afraid my Mr. J was getting the worst of it.

While I watched, a hand over my mouth to stop from breathing the smoke, Batman managed to slam Mr. J to the ground. He bent over him, striking Joker again and again.

_The bully. Hateful, hateful Batman. _

I could see Joker's hands trying to fend off the blows, but with little success.

I couldn't wait another moment.

_Nobody hurts my puddin'. Not while there is a breath left in my body._

I grabbed a splintered board off the floor and rushed towards them.

Batman was so intent on pummeling his victim that he didn't hear or see me approach.

Typical.

"Fore!" I cried at the top of my lungs.

And I swung that board at him with the entire weight of my small body behind it.

His head turned, and for a moment I thought I saw recognition in those dark eyes.

But he was a split second too slow.

The board connected with the side of his head with such force that it snapped in half.

The Batman went down.

Joker rolled over onto his side and then quickly back onto his feet.

"Nice shot, Harl," he complemented with a wheezing breath.

"Thank you, Mr. J."

I had already turned and started to dash back to the door when I realized he wasn't behind me.

He was kicking Bats while he was down.

And while normally I would certainly approve of anyone kicking the Batman, the flames were growing hotter by the second.

I turned back.

"Mr. J, there isn't time! We need to get out of here!"

I don't think he even heard me. His face was fixed in a snarl.

The Batman's body barely moved, but I think I heard him groan.

It was getting harder and harder to breathe. I could feel hot embers now drifting down onto my head. The fire had spread across the roof, and I could hear ominous popping and cracking sounds overhead.

"Mr. J, please!" I begged.

I went to him and grabbed his arm, trying to pull him away.

And he wheeled about and struck me across the face. His fist connected with the side of my jaw, so hard that I was sent sprawling backwards.

It was the first time Mr. J ever actually slugged me.

It wouldn't be the last.

My ears were ringing, and for a moment I wondered if he had knocked some teeth out. Fortunately I didn't taste any blood.

It took me a moment to shake off the shock. I refused to allow my mind to process what had just happened.

_We were still in danger._

I staggered to my feet.

"We have to go!" I screamed again, my voice hoarse from the smoke. "We have to go now!"

I don't know why, but this time he seemed to hear me.

I saw his eyes suddenly focus on me again.

That was all the encouragement I needed. I took hold of his hand, and we ran.

We made it out of the building moments before the roof gave way. With an enormous crash and a shower of sparks it collapsed behind us.

We stood outside.

I was still holding on to Mr. J—supporting him, in fact, as I could now see the physical toll Batman's beating had taken on him. Blood was oozing from his lips and his left eye was already swelling shut.

Mercifully, Lewis took that moment to tear around the corner in the stolen SUV. Buster was in the passenger seat, an automatic rifle in his lap.

Thank heavens for henchmen.

Lewis leaned out the driver's side window and yelled at me.

"Harley, the Gotham P.D. is on the way."

"I hear you, Lewis," I shouted back.

I brushed Mr. J's sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes.

"Let's go, baby," I said softly.

But he didn't seem to hear me. He was staring fixedly into the fire, as if expecting the Batman to rise out of the ashes like a phoenix.

"It's all right, Mr. J," I told him. "He's dead."

"He's not dead!" Joker yelled.

His whole face was contorted with rage.

"He's never dead!"

"He JUST WON'T DIE!"


	6. Chapter 6

The Madness of Two

Ch. 6: Salvatore Maroni

The Asylum didn't give us very good craft supplies. Only some crayons and those terrible blunt-edged scissors they use in kindergarten.

But those scissors were good enough for me to sit at a table in Arkham's common room and cut up magazines.

I was clipping out all the beefcake photos I could find.

Like I said, I'd been in Arkham awhile.

Dr. Rodriquez, the administrator, came over to see what I was doing. She smiled at the pile of heartthrob actors and buff athletes I'd collected.

"For my cell," I winked at her.

"I see. Harley, may I join you for a moment?"

"Sure, doc." I pushed aside the pile of mutilated gossip rags. "What can I do you for?"

"Actually, Harley, I could use your advice."

I studied her for a moment. She was a middle-aged lady, very handsome and dignified in her red suit and white lab coat. I knew she had been chosen to head Arkham in large part because of her sterling credentials and reputation for order. She must have seemed like the perfect candidate to mop up the mess after the scandals of Dr. Otani's administration.

I'd never exchanged more than a few words with her.

And I wasn't fooled.

But I still smiled brightly. "OK, shoot."

She leaned forward a bit.

"I understand that you and Pamela Isley have struck up a friendship, Harley."

_Ah hah. _

"Two gals in similar circumstances," I shrugged. "Working in the garden helps keep me busy. And since Ivy's in solitary so much of the time _someone_ needs to pull the weeds."

"I see. Well, you know, Harley, I've been rather concerned about Miss Isley."

"Have you, now?"

"She hasn't been making as much progress as we'd like to see. And attacking you that day…"

"_Phhhttt_." I waved a hand in the air. "That was months ago. Ancient history."

"Even so, I was hoping you could use your positive influence to help Pamela find her way again. There is potential for rehabilitation there, but only if she embraces her time here and works for it."

"I'll do what I can to help Pammy," I said earnestly. "She's a great lady."

"I'm sure she is." The doctor patted my hand. "I knew you'd understand. Thank you for your time, Harley."

"No problem," I chirped.

I waited until she was across the room to snort derisively.

Rehabilitate? Poison Ivy?

Yeah, right.

---

---

---

I drew my knees to my chest to I could sink deeper into my bubble bath.

My jaw hurt, and my lungs still stung a bit from smoke. So as soon as we'd gotten back to the hideout I'd retreated to the one place a gal could have any kind of privacy.

Her bathtub.

I'd found the tub not long after moving in with Mr. J. It was on one of the lower floors of our old building. Here the developers had actually gotten as far as finishing a full bathroom, probably to show off to investors.

It was one of those big, deep, bathtubs you see in design magazines. Fortunately it had been too heavy to be stripped and carried off when the project had gone under.

I'd drawn the hottest water I could stand, added a generous dollop of my officially licensed Owl Man bubble bath, and sunk in to do some deep thinking.

Mr. J had struck me.

No one had ever stuck me, not even my parents. Sure, I'd been in a few hair pulling matches with other girls when I was little, but nothing like this.

_He was angry, Harl._

And that makes it OK?

_No, but he wasn't thinking straight. You know that. You know Joker cares about you._

Do I? Do I know that? I'm not sure I do.

I closed my eyes and slipped under the water.

Unfortunately my reverie was interrupted by a pounding on the door.

I surfaced and wiped foam out of my eyes.

"_Occupado_! Go away!" I shouted.

"Harley?"

It was Mr. J on the other side.

"Harley, where's my breakfast?"

I muttered something that would have been anatomically impossible.

"What did you say?" He asked. His voice was only slightly muffled.

Emboldened by my hot bath and the locked door, I sat up straighter.

"I said, 'Go to Hell!'"

Something slammed against the door. I don't know if it was his fist or his foot.

"Harley, open this door right now. What's gotten into you?"

"You slugged me!" I shouted back.

There was a pause for a moment. "So?"

I picked up the bottle of bubble bath and hurtled it across the room. "'So?' So, I was trying to save your life, and you slugged me!"

"You got between me and the Bat, Harley." Even through the thick wood I could hear that his tone had dropped down into a lower register. He was getting angry.

_Good._

"Never get between me and the Bat, Harley!"

"Fine, I won't! Next time I'll just let him tear your stupid head off!"

There was an ominous thud against the door. "Open this door, right now."

"No."

Another bang, a louder one. "_Now_, Harley."

I was perversely enjoying myself.

"No," I called sweetly.

I heard wood beginning to splinter. I suspected he was ramming his shoulder into it.

I giggled.

The door finally gave way, and Mr. J stood over the bathtub, his expression as black as the soot that still stained his clothes.

"Don't you _ever_ lock me out again, Harley, do you hear me?" He growled.

He was so furious his hair seemed to stand on end. Under the smeared makeup and blackened eye he looked genuinely enraged.

I put a hand over my lips to stifle another laugh. _I'd_ been the one to make him so angry.

I suddenly felt very powerful. And I wasn't angry any more.

"Yes, Mr. J," I promised.

Maybe he didn't expect me to give in so soon. Or maybe it was because I was naked in a bathtub, with only bubbles protecting my modesty.

He just sighed.

I knew he must be awfully tired. He'd gone toe to toe with the Batman, nearly been killed beneath a collapsing building, and busted down a door.

That was a lot, even for Mr. J.

"Did you hurt your shoulder, baby?" I asked sympathetically.

"Yes, no thanks to you," he groused.

He stepped into the bathtub, shoes and all.

I tried to wriggle out of the way.

He reached down and grabbed a hold of my bare foot, so I couldn't climb out.

"Mr. J, stop! You're getting the water all dirty!"

"That's what baths are for, Harley."

His smile stretched from ear to ear.

---

After that peace and tranquility returned to our happy home.

Joker had his rubidhydrox-whatsis chemical, and that kept him busy. He had jobs and errands for the henchmen to run, and that kept _them_ busy.

The bruise on my jaw eventually faded. I was busy, too.

I was searching for a new hideout.

I'd heard Mr. J and Lewis discussing the need to relocate before the Batman or the Gotham P.D. got a fix on our location. Evidently they did this every few months, rotating between previously used sites and brand new ones. I'd heard Mr. J express a desire for a new one, closer to Old Gotham but far enough away from the hustle and bustle that we wouldn't be easily discovered.

I knew just the place. One sticky, sweltering summer day, when Joker was out for the afternoon, I schlepped out to Apario Park to see if it was as I remembered.

It was. Funland Amusement Park had been all the rage when I was a kid, but it had been done in by a lawsuit over a roller coaster fatality. While the owners has been tied up in court Amusement Mile had opened to the north of Old Gotham, and that, as they say, had been that. Last I had heard the park had been seized for back taxes, and now hung in some sort of legal limbo as it slowly rotted back into Gotham's black soil.

I brought along a bolt cutter to slice through the front gate padlock, and spent a happy hour or two wandering around. Most of the rides had been hauled away for scrap, but the old offices and a few of the fairway buildings still stood. Plump rats were the only other forms of life I encountered.

It would be perfect.

Mr. J and I would finally have our own room, with space left over to spare.

Now I just had to wait for the perfect time to surprise him.

---

I sat in front of Buster's ill-gotten plasma television, eating an evening bowl of cereal and watching _Gotham Tonight_ with some of the henchmen. Mr. J was bent over his work table, fiddling with something small and lethal.

"…_and tonight GT has exclusive details on the gala engagement party of millionaire Jackson Jones and heiress Veronica Vreeland,"_ the vacuous hostess announced breathlessly. _"Rumors have been swirling for weeks now that the couple has reserved the Grand Ballroom at the __Gotham Metropolitan Hotel__. What's the theme for the party honoring Gotham's hottest twosome? Let's hear it from Jackson Jones himself."_

The footage cut to an interview with a blandly handsome man in a tuxedo. It looked as if the cameras had caught him either on his way into or out of an exclusive supper club.

"_Sure, I'll let you boys in on the scoop."_ He winked into the camera. _"The theme for the party is going to be Gotham in the Roaring '20s. You know, Prohibition, tommy guns, gin, the whole nine yards."_

"_Is that really appropriate, given Gotham's current troubles?"_ One of the braver reporters piped up.

Mr. Blandly Handsome rolled his blue eyes. _"Troubles? This is nothing. Gotham has never been as wild as it was back then. Our criminals today, they're just pale imitations. My darling Veronica and I are going to bring the whole era back to life, and we'll show 'em who's the real deal in Gotham."_

"WHAT?"

The loud exclamation and the clatter of tools being hurtled across the room got my attention. I looked over my shoulder and saw Mr. J on his feet, staring at the screen in outrage.

Mr. J stalked over to the television.

"How DARE he?" Joker demanded. "'Pale imitations'? That blond boy toy wouldn't know a real criminal if one stabbed him in the lungs."

"You're absolutely right, pudding," I consoled. "But I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it."

Joker eyed the figure on the screen, who was still nattering away.

"Oh, yes he did, Harl. That little twerp has issued me a direct challenge. What kind of criminal would I be if I let it go unanswered?"

He turned away and waved his hand.

"Turn it off, boys. I have some thinking to do."

One of the henchmen scrambled to his feet.

"…_the second marriage for Miss Vreeland. We all remember her elopement with the Argentine polo player Paolo…"_

The television was switched off.

Lewis and I exchanged glances.

We both knew Mr. J to be a man of his word.

If he intended to answer what he perceived to be a challenge, he would.

It was just a question of when, and how, and how many people would die in the process.

---

I was so excited I could hardly breathe.

A night on the town in Gotham City.

Well, sort of.

I had gone out to the stores and found a slinky red dress and a pair of high heels. Mr. J was dressed in his best purple suit. I'd tucked a real flower in his lapel.

I could tell by the way people backed away from us as we entered the club arm-in-arm that we made quite an impression.

Or maybe it was the half-dozen armed gunmen behind us. I don't know.

The crowd didn't impede our progress across the floor.

The Cave looked like every club I'd ever been to in college—dark and smoky, with mirror balls.

The DJ kept spinning dance music. But everyone had by now stopped dancing, or even moving.

A small fellow in a cheap suit rushed over. He seemed to recognize Mr. J. Of course, Mr. J _is_ hard to miss.

"Mr. J-Joker. I'm the general manager. How may I help you?"

Joker leaned forward slightly, at his most menacing. He didn't have to raise his voice to be heard, even over the music.

"Tell Mr. Maroni that the Joker and Miss Harley Quinn are here to see him."

The manager eyed the gunmen behind us. "Yes—yes. Right this way, please.

"Service with a smile, eh, Harley?" Mr. J told me.

I laughed.

It was nice to be out like this, him and me. I just hoped sometime we could do it without the henchmen.

We were ushered down a dingy hallway and into a back room.

It was clearly intended for private parties. The room was spacious, with mirrored walls that reflected the low light and made the space feel more intimate then it really was.

Maroni sat on a white leather banquette behind a large oval table done in a matching shade of white. Two burley men in suits stood to either side of him, but neither one made a move, even though they both looked as if they were itching for a fight. I suspected they were under orders.

I studied the man himself for a moment. I remembered his face from the newscasts, of course, but this was the first time I'd seen him in person. He wasn't a bad looking man—middle aged, with carefully cropped dark hair turning silver at the temples. Next to him on the banquette was a skinny blond in a gold lame dress. She looked positively ill.

Maroni's face betrayed no emotion whatsoever.

"Mr. Joker, nice to see you again," Maroni said. "'Scuse me if I don't get up." He held up the handle of a gold-embossed cane. I'd heard he'd been in a nasty auto accident a year or two ago.

"If you'da told me you were coming I would have done something special for you."

Maroni waved away the manager. The little man rushed out of the room as fast as his legs would carry him.

"We've been doing business for awhile now," Maroni added. He eyed the arsenal behind Mr. J's back. "Are the gunmen really necessary?"

"Oh, they're just here to keep Harley company," Joker explained. "She gets lonely."

"Does she?" The mobster eyed me. "So you're Harley Quinn. Joker's…" He looked like he couldn't think of the appropriate word.

"I prefer 'gun moll,'" I offered helpfully.

"Harley watches a lot of old movies," Joker explained.

"Uh huh." Maroni studied me for a long moment.

"You know, you ain't a bad lookin' dame when you're not in that crazy outfit."

He glanced over at Joker, and then back at me.

"I gotta tell ya, sweetheart," he told me, "you could do better."

Before even thinking about it I lunged across the table. But Mr. J caught me by the wrist.

He twisted it, forcing me back.

"Now, now, Harley," he said gently. "Remember--insults are the ignorant man's weapon."

I let my anger subside. "You're right, Mr. J."

"Now that the introductions are out of the way, let's get down to business." Joker snapped his fingers, and Buster immediately produced a chair for Mr. J so he could sit opposite Maroni.

Mr. J. gestured at me. "Harley, you sit next to…to…"

"Crystal," the women whimpered.

"Of course. Crystal," Joker said with a wide smile.

I slid into the booth, making sure to jam my elbow into the women's side as I did so.

"Watch it, sister," I told her. I lowered my voice into my best gangster impersonation. "No making eyes at Mr. J. There's only room for one blond bimbo in his life, and that's me, see?"

Joker laughed, and even Maroni chuckled a little. Crystal looked so scared that I was a little worried she'd upchuck on my new dress.

Some people just don't appreciate our brand of humor. What can you do?

"We need to talk business, Maroni," Joker explained.

"I know, revenues _are_ down a bit this month," the mobster said with a frown. "Same all over town. It's the economy—what can you do?"

Mr. J shook his head. "Not _that_ kind of business. A different kind." He leaned forward a bit. "What do you know about the Gotham Metropolitan Hotel?"

Maroni's eyebrows lowered a bit. "A hotel? What do you care about a hotel?"

But Joker wagged a finger in the air.

"Ah ah ah, Maroni. Don't forget—you and your little playmates keep operating only as long as you stay out of my business."

The older man's mouth twisted. He had been king of the Gotham underworld once. Before my clever Mr. J had taken all that away.

But he knew he was outgunned. And he was also afraid.

Most people wouldn't have noticed it, but don't forget that in my long ago other life I'd been trained to observe. I saw fear written in every line around the mobster's dark eyes, in how his fingers coiled and recoiled around the head of his cane.

He was afraid of the Joker.

That was probably why he was still alive.

"Just asking," Maroni said now with a shrug. He glanced pointedly at his girlfriend.

"Go powder your nose," he told her.

She didn't move.

"Harley, go with her," Mr. J added.

"Sure. Let's go, toots." I grabbed one of the woman's skinny arms and hauled her to her feet. She was taller than me, but stick thin, tottering on too-high heels. I wrapped my arm around hers to steady her.

"Karen and I'll be back in ten, Mr. J," I announced.

"Crystal," she finally managed to whimper.

I rolled my eyes. "Like it matters. C'mon."

I had to practically haul her out of the room. Back down the dim hallway I shoved her through the door marked "Ladies" and then followed her in.

She half crawled, half scrambled to the double sinks, where she huddled on the floor.

"Oh, God, you're going to kill me, aren't you?"

She started at me with huge eyes. They were almost all pupil; barely any iris at all. I wondered if she was on something.

I stepped up to better see myself in the mirror and plopped my purse down on the edge of the sink.

"Don't be stupid. Why would I kill you? I don't even know you."

I scrutinized my reflection. I'd gone without the white pancake makeup tonight, but to tell the truth I felt a bit naked without it. I compensated by applying another thick layer of bright red lipstick.

"The Joker kills people," my cowering companion said.

"So?" I smacked my lips together so the color would spread evenly. "We all gotta go some time."

She looked like she might burst into tears.

Disgusted, I turned away and worked on fluffing up my hair.

"They're just talking business. Maroni wanted you out of the room," I explained. "Say, he's kind of bossy, isn't he?"

I might as well have been talking to a rock. But I kept chattering anyway.

"Once he and Mr. J finish discussing their business, _mano a mano_, we can go back in. Hey, did you know that _mano a mano_ doesn't mean what everyone thinks it does? It's Spanish, so it really means 'hand to hand,' not 'man to man.' But if everyone else is gonna use it wrong, I may as well too, you know?"

Nothing. I was beginning to seriously question Maroni's taste in women. Of course, he wouldn't be the first criminal to prefer having a stupid lady at his side.

Thank goodness Mr. J wasn't like that.

I may be daffy, but I'm not dumb.

I finished my hair and then used my finger to scrub a bit of lipstick off my front teeth.

Finally I noticed that Crystal was staring at me. To be precise, she was staring at a livid bruise that stood out plainly against my white skin.

I laughed. "What, you've never seen a hicky before?"

She still looked at bit queasy. "Yeah, but why is it on your _leg_?"

I glanced down at the mark just above my ankle. Mr. J was nothing if not creative. But _she_ didn't need to know that.

And you people wonder why I stayed with him as long as I did. _Sheesh_.

I finally decided we'd been gone long enough for Joker to finish whatever business he had with Maroni.

I fished a balled-up tissue out of my purse and tossed it to her.

"Ok, kiddo. Wipe your eyes and let's go back in before one of the boys gets an itchy trigger finger."

She did as I asked, and then got shakily to her feet.

I looked at her seriously for a long moment and then headed for the door.

"You know, Crystal," I tossed back over my shoulder. "I think maybe you should consider another line of work. You don't seem to be cut out for this kind of thing."

"Yeah," she said is a whispery voice. "Yeah, I think maybe you're right."

"Darn tootin'," I winked.

---

"Do you really love me, Harley?" Mr. J asked me. He laid one of his gloved hands against the bare skin of my back.

We were lying in our bed—alone, of course. I was on my stomach.

I hadn't meant to say it. It had just kind of slipped out. But I wasn't sorry.

"I do. I wouldn't have said so if I didn't mean it." I curled my arms around my pillow.

"Hmm. I don't think anyone's ever told me that before."

"You wouldn't remember even if they had," I reminded him.

"Oh, I don't know. I like to think I would have."

I heard him reach into his coat pocket. A moment later I felt the cold of a blade pressing against my skin. It dug in ever so slightly, until I could feel the trickle of warm blood.

I gasped.

"Still not afraid of me, Harley?" Joker asked.

"No," I said defiantly. "Not ever."

"Then hold very still."

As he went to work I bit my lip and tried to focus on something other than the pain. I tried to remember my old life, the one where I'd worked at Arkham and lived in a tidy condo and had my roots touched up every six weeks. I found I couldn't remember it very clearly. It was all hazy, as if it had all happened very long ago or to someone else. _This_ was my life. _This_ was real.

"You see, Harley," Mr. J finally said, breaking my reverie, "people think sex is intimacy. It isn't, you know. _Anyone_ can have sex," he scoffed. "But this…this is real intimacy, isn't it?"

I buried my face in my pillow. "Yes."

When he finally lifted the blade away, my back was slick with blood. He delicately used the edge of the sheet to dab it away, and then kissed the top of my head.

It would be weeks before I could stomach looking at the wounds, and almost as long until they healed. But when they did, there, raised and angry against the skin over my left shoulder blade, was his gift to me.

It was his name, in crooked letters.

_Joker._


	7. Chapter 7

The Madness of Two

Ch. 7: Bruce Wayne

Author's note: I normally post on Fridays, but with a holiday coming up I figured many of you would be able to catch up on your reading anyway. Thank you all for your helpful feedback so far.

Enjoy this latest installment, featuring cameos by Bruce Wayne and everyone's favorite ventriloquist, Arnold Wesker.

And a Happy New Year to all you daffy mols and crazy clowns out there!

---

"I did good, didn't I, Mr. J?" I asked hopefully.

Joker ignored me.

We were standing on the deserted fairway of what had been the Funland Amusement Park. The sun wasn't quite up yet, but it promised to be another sweltering September day. In Gotham, the heat didn't break until Halloween, and then we were plunged into a bitterly cold winter. It sometimes made me wonder why any of us lived here.

Some of the henchmen were poking around in the debris. But Mr. J was waiting for Lewis, who finally reappeared from around the corner of one of the remaining buildings.

"Well?" Mr. J asked impatiently.

"I think it'll work, boss," Lewis offered. "One way in, but lots of ways we could get out if we had to. The boys and I'll be able to lock it down real tight, so we should be good." He smiled at me. "Good thinkin', Harl. I'd forgotten all about this place."

Finally, _finally_, Joker absently patted my arm. I took this to be his thank you, and smiled widely.

My little family was getting a new home.

"The timing couldn't be better," Joker told Lewis as the two men moved off down the fairway. "After tonight we're going to need to lay low for awhile."

"What's tonight, Mr. J?" I asked eagerly as I followed behind.

He glanced over his shoulder at me. "Patience, Harley. You don't want me spoiling the surprise, do you?"

---

If I'd known then that the "surprise" involved me being stuffed into a cardboard cake, I might not have been so eager.

But now, as I scrunched down and tried to keep my foot from going to sleep and the narrow straps of my tiny dress from falling off my shoulders, I was sort of stuck.

I could feel movement below me—the cake was being wheeled towards the Grand Ballroom of the Gotham Metropolitan Hotel.

Now I understood our visit to Salvatore Maroni. No one in the hotel kitchen had so much as blinked when we had shown up and set Mr. J's plan in motion. Evidently the staff and suppliers of the elegant and historic hotel had been paying off Maroni for years. They were not about to get in the way now.

The svelte singer who was supposed to be jumping out of the cake had been less cooperative, but Buster had picked her up over his shoulder and deposited her in a convenient janitor's closet.

It only took me a moment to get her to swap outfits with me. Waving a gun around will do that.

After I had changed we wedged the door shut for good measure. Her angry cries were muffled, but no one here in the bowels of the hotel was going to help her.

As I waited to make my entrance I privately grumbled a bit about the follies of rich people. Evidently this was all part of the entertainment at Jackson Jones' and Veronica Vreeland's gala engagement party. A singer, dressed as a flapper (hence the skimpy silver dress) was to pop out of an oversize cake and serenade the couple. Serenade them with what, I wasn't sure—but I knew I'd think of something when the time came.

"You OK in there?" Lewis' voice came from somewhere by my left ear. I knew he was one of the white-coated "waiters" delivering me.

"Yes. But I'm telling Mr. J that next time _you_ have to wear the skimpy dress."

Even through the frosted cardboard I could hear him laugh.

I felt a slight jolt and then the ride suddenly got smoother. We were rolling on carpet now. And judging from the appreciative gasps and murmurs I could hear, we were entering the ballroom.

What sounded like a full orchestra suddenly struck up "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow." I could hear people laughing, chattering, as the cake was rolled into place. In my mind's eye I tried to visualize the Grand Ballroom I'd only ever seen in magazines: a space half the size of a football field, with enormous crystal chandeliers and carpets so lush they almost swallowed your feet.

One of the musicians began a drum roll. I let it go on for a minute or two to build anticipation while I got on my knees.

And then I popped out through the tissue paper top of the cake, arms spread wide.

"Ta da!" I cried at the top of my lungs.

A roar of applause greeted my entrance. As my eyes adjusted to the blindingly bright spotlights I could see hundreds of beautifully dressed citizens cheering me on. The couple really had gone all out with the 1920s theme. An orchestra in white coats had their own bandstand next to me. Tables for craps and roulette had been set up down the center of the room. Waitresses with feathers on their heads were circulating with trays full of cocktails.

Judging from the heat and the noise, most of the guests had already knocked back more than a few of those cocktails. As I stood under the spotlights sweat immediately began to trickle down my nearly bare back. It made the wounds on my shoulder sting.

The crème de la crème of Gotham's elite was out tonight. Everywhere I looked I saw faces I recognized from the papers. The mayor and his wife. The president of Gotham University and _his_ wife. And at the very front of the room, just below me, was the couple of honor. Vreeland was wearing a white dress that exposed almost as much skin as mine did; Jones was in a flashy tuxedo. Just to Jones' left was a man in a less elaborate but equally expensive tuxedo. He had dark hair and eyes, and even though a woman was wrapped in each of his arms he looked bored out of his mind. I recognized him, too. He was Bruce Wayne, billionaire jetsetter and all around playboy.

Ooooh, this was going to be fun.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I may have your attention, please?" I called.

Finally the room quieted a bit.

"Ahem." I held my bare arms wide again. And I sang a little tune I made up on the spot. I'm not a professional, but I have a good strong singing voice. I did my best to convey the right spirit for the evening.

I decided a tribute to another daffy blonde was in order.

"Happy engagement, Jackson and Veronica," I sang breathily.

Several men in the audience wolf-whistled at me.

I ignored them and continued

"Happy engagement, Jackson and Veronica…"

I daresay my pouty, baby-voiced homage would have made Monroe herself proud.

"Happy engagement, you poor suckers…"

Now people were starting to look confused. I could tell some were wondering if this was a put on or not.

It wasn't.

"Happy engagement to yooooouuuuu." I extended the last note as long as I could, simultaneously reaching around to my back.

All I had to do was reach just inside the low-cut sides of the flapper dress to lay my hands on the guns strapped around my waist.

I pulled them out, one in each hand, cowboy style, just as I finished singing.

Mr. J had given me an upgrade for the occasion. These were full automatics.

I smiled sweetly and pulled both triggers.

I wasn't deliberately aiming at anything, but I managed to take out several crystal vases and an ice sculpture in spectacular fashion.

People dove out of the way, screaming and shouting. The henchmen who had already been stationed in the room quickly moved to block the exits as Lewis and the others surged forward, guns also in hand.

I didn't want to miss all the fun, so I jumped down from the cake. I chose to leap right into the arms of Bruce Wayne, who was one of the only people not rushing about in a panic.

Gentleman that he was, he actually caught me. It was nice to know there was some chivalry left in the world.

"Thanks, sweetie," I told him, quickly planting one on his well-shaped lips.

He immediately dropped me. So much for chivalry.

I was back on my feet in an instant, guns still in hand. "Time?" I shouted over to Lewis.

"Ten minutes," he called back.

"Right. Go to work, boys," I ordered.

They did as I bade, pilfering watches, wallets, and jewelry from the cowering guests. No one dared be heroic, not with the very men they had taken for hotel security now rifling through their pockets and bags.

I glanced down to my left, where I saw Veronica Vreeland huddled on the floor in the arms of her fiancé. Jackson Jones looked as if he'd like to strangle me with his bare hands as a thug demanded his wallet and the couple's engagement rings. In fact, I was ready to level the gun at his head in case he got any bright ideas when Wayne laid a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Just hand them over, Jackson," he said calmly. "They can be replaced. You can't."

I thought that was very sweet.

The henchman tossed me Vreeland's ring, all platinum and sparkly with a rock the size of a robin's egg. I tucked it down the front of my dress for safe keeping.

"Twenty minutes, Harley," Lewis told me.

"Right." I held up both guns again and raised my voice, so the assembly could hear me. "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen! It's been fun, but we have to go now. Enjoy the rest of your evening, and do try the veal."

Lewis and the others rushed the doors to the fire exits. But I look a moment to kneel back down by the happy couple.

Veronica Vreeland squeaked in horror as I leaned near her.

"By the way, congratulations!" I offered heartily, to let them know it wasn't personal or anything.

I popped back to my feet and bolted for the doors back through to the kitchen.

I heard a roar of anger behind me, and then pounding footsteps.

Apparently Jackson Jones _was_ taking it personally.

I laughed as I ran back through the now-empty kitchen, past unattended simmering pots and plates of concealing food. Apparently the kitchen staff had had enough for one evening.

I had made it to the service corridor that connected the kitchen with the other parts of the hotel when Jones managed to catch me with a flying tackle. We went down with a crash on the gray industrial tile.

Before I could catch my breath he had me pinned. Lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace of rage, he grabbed me by my bare shoulders and smacked me hard across the face.

I laughed again.

"Is that the best you can do?" I wheezed good-naturedly.

With a grunt of disgust he let go of me and stood up.

It was only then he saw who was waiting for him.

In comical slow-motion, the millionaire's eyes traveled from the shoes with their elongated toes, up past the purple pants and suit jacket and natty green vest, to the white face with the red ear-to-ear smile.

"Sorry, friend," Mr. J said politely. "Nobody hits Harley but me."

Joker squeezed the concealed bulb linked to the trick flower in his lapel.

Jones, whose mouth had dropped open in horrified surprise, got a face full of Joker venom. He dropped to the ground, coughing and spluttering as the drug took effect.

"My hero," I said happily as Mr. J pulled me to my feet.

But Joker ignored me. Instead he bent down next to the convulsing body.

"You didn't think this was just a robbery, did you, Mr. Jones?" He said calmly. "Goodness, no. You see, you insulted Gotham's criminal underworld. Which means you insulted me. And I don't take kindly to being insulted, do I, Harley?"

"No, you don't, Mr. J."

"No, I don't." Joker pulled the trick flower off his coat and tucked it into the lapel pocket of Jones' tuxedo. He patted it in place as Jones gasped for air. "So think twice the next time you open your mouth, Mr. Jones, or you're going to end up with a lot more in it than a silver spoon."

We ran off down the hall.

"Is there going to even _be_ a next time for him, Mr. J?" I asked curiously as we reached the fire stairs and started up.

"I don't know. Depends on how long it takes the paramedics to get to him," Joker said mildly. "Now climb faster, or I'm leaving you behind."

"Yes, sir." I kicked off my heels and rushed up the stairs behind him.

We emerged onto an open landing. A metal ladder continued up half a flight to the hotel's roof. The warm evening air gusted around us as a black and white police helicopter approached and then hovered a few feet off the roof.

Mr. J and I huddled to protect ourselves from debris as the chopper finally sat down.

From our vantage point we could see the door slide open, and Buster's ruddy face appear.

He spotted us below him. "Three more Gotham P.D. inbound," he yelled over the noise of the blades. "Time to go."

Joker nodded at him and hurried up the ladder.

I followed, but just as I was about to pull myself onto the roof something caught my foot.

I glanced down, and to my astonishment found Bruce Wayne a few rungs below me on the ladder. He was holding my ankle in one remarkably strong hand. He must work out.

Why the billionaire had bothered following us, I didn't know, but he had some serious _cojones_.

I had to respect that.

"Why?" His strong voice carried even over the wind and the noise.

Even though it was only one word, something in his tone made me think I knew what he was asking.

I shrugged.

"We don't get to pick who we love, Mr. Wayne," I told him.

And then I bent down and smacked my forehead into his.

I'll admit, head-butting isn't very lady-like, but it is devilishly effective.

Since Wayne was below me he got the worst of it. He lost his grip and fell the few feet back onto the landing.

My own vision swam from the blow, but I still was able to haul myself onto the roof.

I half-ran, half staggered the few feet to the chopper. It was already lifting off, but Buster reached down and grabbed my hand, yanking me inside.

With the door closed we quickly swung past three inbound police helicopters, none of which gave us a second look. As far as they knew, we were just another patrol called to the scene of an unknown disturbance.

Lying on my belly on the chopper's floor, I stared up at Mr. J.

"Why didn't you wait for me?" I pouted.

He glanced down at me.

"Because, Harley," he told me. "Timing is everything."

---

---

---

Even now, I could still remember the wonderful weight of Veronica Vreeland's engagement ring on my finger.

As I walked down the hall at Arkham I imagined it was again on my hand. I'd had a great deal of fun trying it on and admiring it. I had wondered then if I was even going to get an engagement ring of my own from Mr. J.

In fact, I had so enjoyed trying on all the wonderful sparklies from the Metropolitan heist it had been all Joker could do to coax them away from me.

I laughed now, remembering how I had pleaded with him, and pouted. After all, I had told him, the robbery had just been a ruse to lure out Jones. Surely it wouldn't hurt to let me keep some the incidental loot? Just a ring or two or three, and a couple of pairs of earrings?

But he'd been steadfast. Business was business, he'd told me, and money was money.

Only when he had promised me an extra special surprise had I finally relented and handed over the jewels.

His surprise had arrived the next day, in the form of two enormous mixed breed dogs.

At the ends of their chains they had snapped and growled at the henchmen, their hackles standing on end. But when Mr. J let them go they'd come right to me and knocked me over, licking my face with careless abandon.

I'd loved them instantly. I'd known they were meant to protect our hideout, but I didn't care.

They were my babies.

We named them Bud and Lou.

I now wondered where they were. Hopefully they hadn't fallen into the hands of the Gotham P.D. If so, since no one could manage those dogs but me, they would surely have been put down.

If Mr. J still had them, I wondered if they'd eaten any of his henchmen yet. I hoped so.

I must have sighed aloud, because the small, reed-thin man passing me in the hallway paused.

"Are you all right, Miss Quinn?" Arnold Wesker asked politely. His thick eyeglasses glistened under the harsh glare of the asylum's overhead lights.

"Did you ever have a pet, Arnold?"

"Oh, no, Miss Quinn. Mr. Scarface would have never allowed it."

"That's too bad. I really miss mine."

He gestured at the cart he was pushing, which held a selection of books and magazines. It was what passed for Arkham's library.

"Maybe some light reading would make you feel better, Miss Quinn?"

"Ah, that's sweet, but I'm really just looking for Ivy, uh, Miss Isley. She's supposed to be on free time just now, but I can't find her."

"Oh, she's chosen to stay in her cell. The new issues of _Scientific American _and _Modern Botanics_ just came in, and she took them right off the cart and started reading them. She said she wasn't to be disturbed."

I huffed. "That figures. Plants again."

"I think Miss Isley loves her plants, the way I loved Mr. Scarface," Wesker said sadly. "At least she can _read_ about what she loves. I'm not even allowed back in the woodshop."

Only because he kept carving new heads for his ventriloquists' dummy, the one he insisted was a gangster called Scarface. But who am I to judge?

"I know. Tough break." I reached out to hug him, but he pulled back in alarm. I settled for patting his shoulder.

"You're a good guy, Arnold."

His scrawny back straightened a bit.

"Thank you, Miss Quinn. You're too kind. You know, I think Mr. Scarface would have liked you."

As he trundled off down the hall I had to smile. I knew he had just paid me the highest of all possible compliments.

And in Arkham, you take the compliments where you can find them.


	8. Chapter 8

The Madness of Two

Ch. 7: Two Face

Author's note: Sorry for the delay, gentle readers. With the start of a new semester I've just been swamped at school.

For this week's episode I've once again lifted (and then slightly modified) some dialog from the original _Harley Quinn_ comic book. A mol always gives credit where credit is due!

"Red, we gotta talk."

I leaned against the side of my friend's open cell door. It was Ivy's free time, the only time she was allowed to move about Arkham.

But she had chosen to spend it holed up in her cell. She'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Go away, Harley," she now said, without looking up from her battered wood desk. That, a plastic chair, and a cot were the only furniture permitted here in the cells of the high security wing.

When she'd first started behaving like this I'd given her her space. But day after day of sitting alone in the TV room and pacing in the yard had changed my attitude. Now I was cheesed off.

"Look, Red!"

I brandished a clump of dirt and dead flowers in my right hand.

"You haven't been taking care of the garden, and it died!"

"Those are cosmos," she said after only a brief glance in my direction. "They're an annual, and they only bloom in summer. In case you haven't noticed, it's now October. They died a natural death."

"This isn't like you, Red," I complained. "What is so important that you have to sit in here all day?"

Poison Ivy sighed and pushed aside the heavy tome she was reading.

"You wouldn't understand, Harl."

"How do you know?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, I know."

I stamped my foot. "That's not fair! I will not be ignored, Ivy!"

Ivy chuckled. "What, are you going to boil my rabbit, Harl?"

"OK, I don't know what that means."

I stood up straighter. "But suit yourself. I can tell when I'm not wanted. And Harley Quinn doesn't stick around where she's not wanted."

I stormed off down the hall. I hadn't reached the end of it, however, before I began to sniffle.

_Pull it together, Harley_, I warned myself. _Red didn't mean to hurt your feelings._

"Nobody ever _means_ to hurt my feelings," I answered aloud.

"But they still do."

---

---

---

I pulled the gun out of my pocket and pointed it at the ceiling.

"Ladies and gentlemen, if I could have your attention, please."

Buster had arrived ahead of me. He was holding a gun to the head of the store's security guard.

Only a few of the cowering people in the jewelry store looked up at me. One of them was a man in a dark suit whom I took to be the store manager. He was crouched miserably on the floor, his hand wrapped in a blood-soaked towel. If I had to guess, I'd say he'd made an ill-advised attempt to reach for the silent alarm when Buster had first stormed in.

But never mind.

"Ahem," I said more loudly.

When that didn't work, I lowered the gun and squeezed the trigger.

The bullet zinged across the room and smashed into a display case holding row after row of shiny gold watches.

I ignored the screaming.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I present to you, the King of Mirth, the Clown Prince of Crime, the one and only—Joker!" I cried.

Mr. J pushed through the doors behind me, several of our gunmen on his heels.

"Thank you, Harley," he said courtly.

"You're welcome, Mr. J," I beamed.

"Folks, we only need a moment of your time today," he announced to the assembly. "You see, I find myself in need of some creative financing for a pet project of mine—you know how it is. So if you'll be kind enough to hand over everything you have, we can all be on our way."

It never ceased to amaze me, the effect Joker had on a crowd. Nobody moved as the henchmen spread out, looting the jewelry cases, purses, and wallets. No one would even raise their heads to look him in the eye.

Maybe they were afraid of what they would see.

One of the store patrons, a youngish woman in an expensive coat, sure looked at me, though. Even though I was just standing there, holding my gun. It was getting irritating.

"What?" I finally asked.

"You're Harley Quinn," she said, in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah. So?"

"I saw photos of you on the news."

"Did you?" I frowned for a moment. "Oh, those ones from the Metropolitan Hotel heist! Those were terrible! I think whoever made those security cameras should be shot, don't you?"

The woman blanched.

"Oh, yeah," I laughed. "Sorry. Poor choice of words, under the circumstances."

"Harley," Mr. J said.

"Yes, boss?"

"Socialize on your own time." It sounded like he was speaking through clenched teeth.

"Right. Sorry."

Lewis nodded, signaling they had everything we had come for. The henchmen began backing towards the door, protecting Mr. J's exit. Buster and I did the same, shielding him from the front.

"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," Joker told them as he took his leave. "And, remember, always let a smile be your umbrella."

"Because diamonds and the Joker are a gal's best friend," I added with a wide grin.

We swept out the door.

---

No sooner had we gotten back to the hideout, however, than I found myself facing down an angry Mr. J. A _very_ angry Mr. J.

He immediately backed me into a corner, leaning into me so that I had to tip my head back to look at him.

The henchmen stepped out of the way. Even Bud and Lou, who had bounced up to greet us, stopped and whined at the sudden uncertainly in the air.

"What was the meaning of that, Harley?" He demanded, his tongue flicking absently at the scars on the sides of his mouth.

"She asked me a question, Mr. J," I explained. "I was just being polite, and we still got away clean, didn't we?"

"Not. That."

He said the two words so slowly that for a moment I was able to watch his eyes actually darken as he spoke.

Uh oh. It looked like I was in big trouble.

"Um, what did I do, Mr. J?" I asked timidly.

"Who said you could have the last line, Harley? Hmm?"

"What, that?" I stammered. "It was something that struck me. On the spur of the moment, like. You know, jewelry store, diamonds…"

He leaned even closer, until I could feel his breath against my forehead.

"You stepped on my line. Nobody EVER steps on my line."

"I didn't mean to. Honest. I just thought it was funny."

It was exactly the wrong thing to say. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Lewis wince.

"So you're telling the jokes now, are you Harley?"

"No, sir," I managed to squeak.

"So you think that you tell better jokes than I do? That you're the one who should get the exit line? Tell me, Harley. Do you think you're funnier than me?"

I had had enough of being bullied. It was one thing when he did it in private; it was quite another when it was in front of all the henchmen and my babies.

I stuck out my lower lip mulishly.

"Maybe."

He pulled away so quickly I was sure he was going to slug me.

But he didn't. Instead he grabbed the back collar of my dress and hauled me across the room.

"All right, that's it. That is it," he said, more to himself than to me.

And to my everlasting astonishment he opened the front door and threw me out into the deserted fairway of the old amusement park.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Fortunately I had landed on my keister, so nothing but my pride was hurt. I stared, open-mouthed, at the now-closed door.

What had just happened?

A second later the door opened again. I held up my arms, sure that Mr. J was about to forgive me, but instead my purse, still complete with brick, came flying at me.

I was able to roll out of the way.

The door closed again, and I was alone.

The sun was already going down in the west, and dark was falling fast as I sat there. Slowly it dawned on me that I had just been thrown out of my home.

I tried not to cry, but tears began to fill my eyes.

More to distract myself than anything else, I jumped to my feet and gathered up my purse. I slung it across my shoulders, letting the familiar weight of the brick rest against my hip.

I carefully brushed the dirt from my dress.

"Stupid, Harley," I murmured to myself. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

There was no doubt in my mind or heart that Mr. J would eventually forgive me. But I had a feeling I'd better give him his space for the time being.

So I ignominiously let myself out of the gate, and started the long walk back towards Old Gotham.

---

I woke up the next morning feeling a bit more optimistic. Sure, I'd had to pass the night curled up in a vacant doorway, and sure it had gotten cold enough for frost to now be coating the ground.

And, sure, I was in temporary exile from the man I loved. But there wasn't a relationship in the history of the world that didn't get stronger when it faced a few challenges.

I found enough money in the bottom of my purse to buy myself a cup of coffee for breakfast. I sat in the window of a grimy dinner until the sun was fully up, and the streets of Gotham City filled with activity.

I decided to cheer myself up. I was going shopping.

I headed out. Morning rush hour had recently ended, but all the shops were open. I cruised happily down the sidewalks, peeking into windows until I saw a pair of boots I wanted. They looked to be just my size, and my old ones were pretty grungy.

It wasn't hard to convince the storeowner to part with them, free of charge. After all, I had been on the news and in the papers.

Everyone now knew who I was.

I did this several times over the course of the morning, until I had a nice little collection of bags in my hands.

I made sure my path through the city was totally random, but even so I kept an eye out for Gotham's finest as I walked.

What I did not manage to catch, however, was the black limousine that trailed me at a distance all morning. In fact, the first time I noticed it was when it whipped around in front of me as I stood on a corner, waiting to cross the street.

"Hey, watch it, pal!" I yelled as I was forced to step back. "These are new boots!"

"If you say so, sister," a gruff voice said behind me.

Before I could turn my head I was immediately seized by each upper arm and lifted off my feet.

The car's door swung open, and before I could blink I was deposited—one might say shoved—inside, limbs and shopping bags flying.

"OK, ouch," I grumbled as we roared away from the sidewalk.

I picked myself up off the floor and found myself eye to eye with the barrel of a gun.

"Hello, Harley Quinn," said the man with the gun.

Or should I say, _men_?

Harvey "Two-Face" Dent had been a patient at Arkham, once upon a time. I had never treated him, but like everyone else in Gotham, I knew his face.

Faces.

"Hello, Mr. Dent."

I cautiously felt behind me for the other seat, easing myself onto it so we were at least on the same eye level. "I've heard a lot about you. But it's nice to finally meet you in person."

"I won't say the feeling's mutual, because it isn't," he told me.

He had the strangest voice, half whisper, and half growl. I think the whisper belonged to the still-human side of his face. The growl belonged to the burnt and disfigured side, the one whose lips were permanently pulled back to reveal both teeth and gums.

Damage like that would have made it impossible to smile. But somehow I doubted Two-Face ever smiled.

The car slowed enough for the door to open again. Before I could make a move two oversized men shoved their way in. They trod carelessly on my purchases and on my toes, and then sat on either side of their boss.

These were the men who had grabbed me. They were twins.

Glancing over my shoulder through the smoked glass of the driver's compartment I could see there were two men there as well. Their backs were to me. Twins again, I'd bet.

The limo took us south, towards the river.

This was not good. I knew Two-Face was heavily involved in Gotham's criminal underworld, even if he kept a far lower profile than Mr. J did. Gambling, racketeering, kidnapping, smuggling—you name it.

On the other hand, he hadn't killed me yet. And I'd been in tight corners before.

I wasn't scared. In fact, I was inspired.

"If you don't mind me asking, Mr. Dent, where do you find all the twins? I know there are a lot of criminals looking for work in Gotham, but that's a pretty specific skill set. Do you advertise?"

"They mostly come to me," he admitted.

"Because I pay well," he then added.

"Of course you do. Although don't you find that doesn't always guarantee good service? I mean, the time Mr. J has of it! But I suppose you know all that. And now that I won't be around to help…"

Two-Face raised his one functioning eyebrow inquiringly.

"Joker and I had a…disagreement. He chucked me out," I admitted.

One of the henchmen glanced over at his boss.

"Then, Two-Face…"

"Shut up," Dent hissed at him. He turned his face, as if the damaged side wanted to see me better. Indeed it seemed as if the eye on this side had a focus and intensity the other one lacked.

"Threw you out, huh? You wouldn't be lying to me, now would you?"

"Why would I lie to you?"

"So I don't kill you for being Joker's girlfriend."

I took a deep breath. "Honest. You can ask him yourself."

"Don't think I won't." He finally leaned back, so his face appeared to be evenly divided in two again.

"So since you don't really have a good reason to kill me at the moment, Mr. Dent, how about I make you a proposition?"

"Not interested."

I held up my hands. "Hear me out."

"Shut up," the goon on the left told me.

"What could you possibly have to propose that would interest the boss?" The goon on the right scoffed.

"Now, now, I know math is hard, but look around you," I explained. "One boss plus four goons is five—and that's a number un-divisible by two! Now with your boss preferring pairs, that can't be good! So what you need is a second-in-command…like moi!"

It was a bold proposal, and one I hadn't really had time to think through yet. But I was sincere.

The twin thugs looked outraged. But Dent just stared hard at me for a long moment.

"Say I agree with you," he finally said. "Say I've been thinking something like that myself. Why you? Why not just cut you in half with a bullet right now?"

"Ok." I held up my hand, ticking items off as I spoke. "My name's Harley Quinn—that's two words. My outfit's split down the middle in half…mostly. And you'd only be the second crime boss I ever worked for—after Mr. J."

I felt those were pretty strong recommendations in my favor. But I also felt compelled to be honest, too.

"Of course, you're probably thinking that I'm here, and the Joker's still at his hideout, which doesn't say a lot for me being a stand-up number two. And you'd be right. I know I didn't do what I should have with Mr. J—but I learned a ton, and I'm not making those mistakes a second time. Cross my heart. Besides, I figure if anyone's going to give me a second chance it's Two-Face. So what do you say?"

He reached into his coat pocket and produced his coin. The one he used to make all his decisions. He held it out so I could see both sides.

"Head, you're in. Tails, you die right here."

He flipped the coin.

I knew how it would land.

He glanced down at his palm.

"You're in."

"All right!" I clapped my hands together gleefully, then raised one in the air. "Give me five! Uh, I mean, give me two!"

He just stared at me coldly. "We don't have time for half-witted humor, Quinn. Business before pleasure."

"Yes, Mr. Dent."

And that was how I went to work for Two-Face. Not bad for a gal with only seventy-five cents and a brick to her name.


	9. Chapter 9

The Madness of Two

Sorry for the delay, HxJ fans—I've been one seriously busy and stressed out mol! But here at last is Ch. 9—enjoy!

Ch. 9: Tweedledum and Tweedledumber

It is a truth universally acknowledged that there is never enough hot water in Arkham Asylum.

I mean _never_.

That is why I stood hastily scrubbing my hair under the shower head in the women's bathroom. I was trying to get the last of the gummy soap the staff provided out of my hair before the hot stuff ran out.

For those of us in the high security wing the showers were only available once a week. Even then we were watched. A bored looking female guard was now propped against the door a few yards away, playing solitaire on her cell phone. But there was still enough steam in the room that I had a modicum of privacy.

I finally gave up and shut off the water with a heavy sigh. I would kill for a decent bottle of shampoo. The soap was wrecking havoc on what was left of my blond highlights. Pretty soon my hair would be as green as Mr. J's.

_Ah, Mr. J. _

I really missed him this morning.

"Harley."

I glanced up.

Out of the steam emerged Poison Ivy, her hair already beginning to curl from the damp.

"Hey, Red," I said half-heartedly. "Not much hot water left. You'll probably want to shower fast."

"Never mind that." She reached over and turned on several taps full blast, so that the room grew steamy again and the sound drowned out the _bips_ and _bloops_ from the guard's game.

Ivy leaned her bare back against the tile.

"We need to talk."

---

---

---

As I sped through the Gotham City streets I had to admit that my new job wasn't so bad.

Working for Two Face was nothing like working for Mr. J.

For one thing, my job was a lot more straightforward. Two Face had own staff. They did all the cooking and cleaning. Or at least I think they did. I hadn't seen them much in the weeks I'd been with the organization.

This freed me up to spend more time on the professional side of things, relaying messages and collecting on debts. I was sort of a cross between a personal assistant and an enforcer, although I like to think I brought my own unique style to the position.

I'd given myself a new look to go along with it. I'd lightened my hair to platinum blond and I twisted finger waves into it every morning, a la Jean Harlow.

I'd buried my black and red outfit under my mattress in favor of a white, halter top dress.

I even finally had my motorcycle.

But I wasn't happy.

I missed Mr. J.

And, in case you're wondering, I didn't provide any, ahem, _other_ services for Two Face.

He never asked, and I didn't offer.

Even if he _had_ asked, I would have told him straight-up: Mr. J had, and always would have, my heart. And my other bits as well.

I pulled into the alley behind Two Face's headquarters, the old Janus Theater on 63rd. Back in the twenties it had been a popular first run movie palace, but now it was a grimy hulk no one wanted.

No one but Two Face.

I parked the bike and let myself in the back way. It was long past midnight, and there was no moon in the sky.

Two Face's favorite twin henchmen, the ones I called Tweedledum and Tweedledumber, were waiting for me. They were the two who had originally snatched me off Gotham's streets. Both were thick-necked and square-faced, like Midwestern farm boys who had traded in cows for crime.

For all I knew, that's what they were.

I didn't like them, and they didn't like me. It was all a bit awkward.

But we were careful to always be civil in Two Face's presence. Two Face tolerated no dissent in his ranks. Not ever.

"You're late. He wants to see you," Tweedledum told me.

"Now," Tweedledumber added.

"Of course. Lead the way."

I followed one of them (I'm not sure which) down the hall towards what had once been the stage. The space was now set up as a comfortable lounge that wouldn't have been out of place in a gentleman's club.

My new boss was relaxing in his favorite leather chair, a glass of scotch and a copy of the _Wall Street Journal_ at his side. He definitely had a taste for the finer things in life. Pinstripe suits, hand-made wingtip shoes, crystal tumblers for his drinks—no luxury was spared. Not that any of it seemed to make him happy.

Two Face was never happy.

"You're late," he growled at me.

"So I hear."

The undamaged side of his face tipped towards me, the clear blue eye calm but curious.

He pointed at the closest chair. "Sit."

Once I had plunked myself down, I reached into my halter top and produced the roll of unmarked bills Two Face was expecting.

"A down payment?" He asked.

"Yep. Ten grand. I counted it, but feel free to count it again."

"The K Street gang cooperated?"

I leaned back with a smile.

"They did. I told them it was deal with me, or wait and deal with you."

"Wise choice."

He handed the roll of bills to his henchman.

I waited expectantly for him to say something, complement me on saving him so much of his valuable time. But he said nothing.

I sighed. "Do you need me any more tonight, boss? 'Cause, if you don't…"

"No. You can go." He picked up his glass of scotch, waving his free hand absently.

Behind him, Tweedledum smirked at me.

I was sorely tempted to stick out my tongue. But I didn't.

"Guess I'll turn in then."

Two Face didn't say good night.

Neither did I.

I went upstairs.

At the top of the stairs, a turn to the right would take me to the balcony, still complete with seats and the smell of stale popcorn. To the left was the rabbit warren of small rooms that had once been the theater's offices, projection room, and storage.

It was here I'd carved out a small space of my own, with a narrow bed and a grimy window that looked out over the alley. But it was dry, and there was a sturdy lock on the inside of the door.

With nothing else to do and nowhere else to go I pulled off my dress and climbed under the thin blanket.

I couldn't complain.

I wasn't unhappy.

But I wasn't happy, either.

I ached for Mr. J.

I pinched myself hard before I could start crying, and tried to sleep.

---

I woke a few hours later, disoriented and grumpy.

The sun wasn't up yet. While I slept the October cold had worked its way into the room, and I now shivered.

Below me I could hear thumping, and muffled voices.

Two Face hadn't said anything about guests.

I debated staying in bed, but decided that I wouldn't be much of a second-in-command if I did.

Reluctantly I got up and dressed again. I tried to grind the sleep from my eyes with my fists, but only succeeded in smearing what was left of my makeup.

Oh, well.

I tip-toed downstairs, hoping Tweedledum and his brother weren't about. They would like nothing better, I was sure, than to catch me creeping about and rat me out to the boss.

I paused at the bottom of the stairs, and slipped around the corner.

"This wasn't part of the deal," I heard a voice, male, say. It wasn't Two Face, and it wasn't any of the henchmen. So why did it sound vaguely familiar?

"I decide how the deal plays out," I heard Two Face respond. "You said you wanted her out of the way."

"Just until her father comes up with the money. But not like this."

I could hear the repetitive metallic _clink_ I'd come to associate with my new employer. It was the sound of his coin being tossed in the air. Catch. Toss. Catch. Toss. It was how he kept his hands busy, the way other men smoked or bit their fingernails.

Sometimes it was really irritating.

"This is kidnapping, not a trip to Paris," the boss now said. "I'm calling the shots, and I said she stays here."

I sucked in my breath. Kidnapping. Wow. That was a new one.

And Two Face hadn't even seen fit to warn me ahead of time. Some partner.

I slid forward a bit, just until I could see the two men. Two Face was still lounging in his chair. The other paced up and down in front of him.

It was Jackson Jones.

No wonder I'd recognized the voice. When you wreck a man's engagement party you don't soon forget him. Last I'd heard he'd been released from the hospital just in time for his lavish wedding in Fiji. It had been on the covers of all the magazines for weeks.

He didn't look so glamorous now. His tie was askew, his face puffy and unshaven. This was a man on the edge.

The edge of what, I wondered?

Since I could only assume Two Face had his reasons for not involving me, I decided not to interrupt the conversation. Besides, I had a pretty good idea what must be going on.

I drew back into the shadows, and darted across the space that had once been the theater's grand lobby. At one end was the old janitor's closet. I could see a sliver of light beneath the door.

I opened it, careful not to let any of the hinges squeak.

As I'd expected, a woman was seated in a chair, her hands and feet bound behind her. There was a gag in her mouth, which was why I hadn't heard her make a sound.

"I gotta say," I told the heiress. "You have even worse taste in men than I do."

Veronica Vreeland Jones stared back at me for a moment, eyes wide with fear.

Then she burst into tears.

---

"I don't like it, boss," I told Two Face later that morning.

"I didn't ask your opinion."

"I know, but I still don't like it. Jones is a worm, and you can't trust a worm."

The scarred side of his face sent me a murderous look. I quickly looked down into my cup of coffee.

I'd slipped back up to bed after confirming that Veronica Vreeland was indeed our "victim." I'd come down again a few hours later, once the sun was up, and feigned surprise when Two Face told me what was going on.

"It's temporary," Two Face's calmer, saner voice told me. "If Jones is going to get General Vreeland to pay up, he needs the kidnapping story to hold water."

"And if her daddy doesn't 'pay up?'"

I held up my cup, and one of the henchmen refilled it. Two Face and I never shared more than drinks, not even at breakfast. I don't think he allowed anyone to see him eat.

"Then we renegotiate." This was his other personality speaking now, and the rasping words were ominous.

I tried to keep my tone as light as possible.

"I mean, I had heard Jones' company was in trouble. But if it's bad enough he's gotta hold his own wife for ransom…all I can say is I'm glad I don't own any of his stock."

"You and me both, sister." He pointed a finger at me. "And it's your job to keep an eye on her."

"What?" Profoundly insulted, I set my cup down with a clatter. "No way. Let one of the henchmen watch her."

"No."

"Look, boss, just 'cause I'm the one with the two "x" chromosomes doesn't mean I have to be the one who babysits!"

"Yeah, it does."

I chewed on my lip for a moment. This was bad. I didn't like the whole idea of a fake-ish kidnapping in the first place, and now it seemed I was being given primary responsibility for its success.

But I was powerless. Two Face might call me his second-in-command, but it was a very, very _distant_ second.

There was nothing for it but to do what I usually did.

Keep my head down, and my chin up, until I could see which way things would eventually break.

And be ready to get out of the way when they did.

"Fine," I told him.

No sooner were the words out of my mouth than there was an ominously loud _thump_ and a pained groan from the direction of the lobby.

With a heavy sign I set down my coffee. "I'm on it, boss."

I walked through the partition to the lobby, cursing men in general and Two Face in particular.

On the floor of the janitor's closet I found one of the twins doubled over on the floor, and Veronica Vreeland, one hand and one leg now free, frantically pulling at the gag in her mouth.

I sighed again, and pulled my gun out of the top of my stocking.

"Stop," I told her.

I had to hand it to her, she wasn't dumb. She instantly froze in place.

I stepped over the moaning henchman and refastened her arm and leg to the chair. Then I untied the gag.

"OK, what's up?"

She sucked in a deep breath, as if to scream. I pressed the gun against her forehead.

"Ah ah ah. I'll thank you to be civil, Miss Vreeland."

The other woman gulped and gasped. "He was trying to attack me," she finally managed to get out.

"Yeah?" I put away my gun and glanced over at Tweedledum."

"Two Face said to take her to the ladies' room, so I had to untie her," he protested from his fetal position. "She kicked me in the nuts!"

"Well, of course she did. I would have, too, under the circumstances," I said sensibly.

I turned back to the heiress. Her face was blotchy from tears and makeup smears ran down her cheeks. Her elaborate French twist was now lopsided, but the haughty glare she gave me still marked her as someone to reckon with.

"Look, Miss Vreeland," I said, "for a fake kidnapping you sure are taking this awfully personally."

"Fake?" She spat. "Fake? Are you stupid enough to believe I would actually go along with a plan like this? After the stock market collapsed last week…I told Jason he wasn't going to get any more money out of Daddy, but he just…he just…"

Her face crumpled like a little girl's, and she started to cry again.

I hauled Tweedledum to his feet and pushed him towards the door.

"Beat it," I told him. "I'm on the job now. Go get an ice pack or something."

He couldn't move very quickly, but finally he slunk out of the room.

I turned my attention back to my charge.

"Stop crying and listen," I told her.

She sniffled, but finally subsided.

"You're in a pickle here, Miss Vreeland. I get that. I really do. Your husband thinks he can fake a kidnapping and get some more money out of your family to prop up his business, you say no, husband goes over your head…it happens. Well, OK, not often, but it _does_ happen."

She blinked her big blue eyes at me.

"So you're going to help me?" She asked hopefully.

"Nope. I work for Two Face, not for you. He's not the best boss in the world, but I owe him at least some loyalty. But what I _will _do is keep an eye on you. Nobody's going to lay a hand on you while I'm around, so just keep your head on straight and you'll come out OK."

"Really?"

"When it comes down to it, who really knows what will happen?" I shrugged. "So I'm not going to make you any promises. But you'll probably be OK. OK?"

She snuffled. "I suppose. But I'm still going to try and escape if you give me the opportunity," she vowed.

I grinned.

"Miss Vreeland, it would be an insult to womankind if you _didn't _try."

---

---

---

"It's a plant."

"Look closer, Harl," Ivy urged me.

I squinted harder at the photos Ivy had laid out before me. As we had previously arranged, I had stopped by Ivy's cell during free hours. But I have to admit, I didn't see the big deal.

"It's, uh, it's…really green, isn't it?" I offered.

Ivy rolled her eyes. "OK, look."

She seized me by the upper arms and deposited me on the edge of her cot. Picking up the photos again, she held them out in front of her.

"This, Harley, is not just any plant. It's _Carchaeridon bollosis_, common name, zombie root. It was first mentioned in Rodriquez's journals in 1597. And it was believed extinct…until two months ago a sole specimen was brought back from the Amazon."

I nodded helpfully. "Cool."

"Zombie root is an very unusual plant. According to legend, and to Rodriquez, when ingested it produced a most unusual side effect."

"Yeah?"

Ivy sat down beside me. "I can see you're trying to be enthusiastic, Harley, and I appreciate it."

"You got it, Red."

Ivy glanced over her shoulder, at the video camera that was watching our every move. She leaned closer.

"When ingested," she whispered, "it makes the victim _exceptionally_ susceptible to mind control."

"Hence the name."

"Sssshhh!"

"Sorry," I whispered back. "OK, I get why you're excited—everyone thought it was extinct, and it isn't. Wonderful. It's the feel-good story of the year."

Ivy got to her feet again. She began to pace back and forth.

"No, Harley. It's a lot more than a story. It's the botanical discovery of the century. And I'm not going to miss it."

I pulled my legs to my chest and rested my chin on my knees.

"I don't like the sound of that, Red. You're not gonna do what I think you're gonna do, are you?"

"You got it, Harley."

"Oh, no, Ivy. Don't."

"I have to."

I had known Poison Ivy for almost a year now, and I don't think I had ever seen her looking grimmer, or more determined. She regarded me steadily, seriously.

"I'm going to break out of Arkham."


	10. Chapter 10

The Madness of Two

Ch. 10: The Batman (Again)

Author's note: Credit where credit is due: a key plot point in this chapter was lifted from _Batman: Harley Quinn_. Also, one scene is a tribute to Brian Azzarello's _Joker_.

I didn't want Poison Ivy to leave Arkham.

And I could have stopped her, if I'd really wanted to. I could have reported what she had told me about the zombie root to the orderlies, or to Dr. Rodriquez.

But I didn't.

Ivy had not shared any of the details of her plot with me. But I knew her escape, when it came, would succeed. That was just the kind of gal she was.

I was going to lose my best friend.

I was going to be alone.

Again.

---

---

There was snow in Gotham City. It dusted the tops of the skyscrapers like sugar and made even the winos look festive.

For three weeks Veronica Vreeland's "abduction" had been front page news. Her father, retired four-star general "Tank" Vreeland was a regular fixture on the cable news stations, demanding his daughter's return. His son-in-law, pale, drawn, and silent, was usually by his side.

The Gotham P.D., it was rumored, had hit a dead end. The FBI suspected she had been taken across the border, and thus would in all likelihood never be recovered.

Nobody knew she was snug as a bug in a rug right under their noses.

It was to laugh.

I held up my end of the deal with Mrs. Vreeland-Jones, making sure she was as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.

I also made sure she never got the opportunity to escape. Not because I doubted my ability to stop her—as Mr. J had always said, I'm little, but I'm wicked fast—but because I feared what Two Face might do to her if she did make the attempt.

In all that time Two Face had only seen his captive once. He had just stood there, looking at her. He hadn't said a word.

She had only stared murderously back at him. But she didn't cringe, or look away from his ravaged face. That took moxy.

Two Face was still leaving me out of the loop on his business dealings. Other than the usual rounds of collecting bribes and pay-offs, I had little to do.

I was bored. In fact, I was starting to contemplate looking for a new position after the holidays. As I lay in my narrow little bed at night I thought about starting over in Star City, or maybe even Metropolis. Think of the trouble a gal could make in a town like Metropolis…

But leaving Gotham City would mean leaving Mr. J for good. I wasn't sure I could do that. Even though I hadn't seen or heard from him in months, and couldn't even mention him out loud without enraging my current employer, Joker was still my man.

He would always be my man.

The question was, without him in my life, what was I going to do?

---

A week or so before Christmas, the wormy Jackson Jones made his second appearance at the Janus Theater. I just happened to me coming in from a bit of holiday window shopping. But the moment I saw Tweedledum ushering him into Two Face's inner sanctum I flung my fur coat off and followed them.

I was just in time to see Jones throw down a large, scruffy leather bag at the boss' feet.

"There it is. The General came through," he said, panting slightly as if he'd been rushing to get here. "Two million in unmarked bills. I said I'd deliver it, and I changed the bags. There was a transmitter in it, just like you said there'd be."

"The Gotham P.D. is always predictable," Two Face said softly. He hadn't even risen from his seat, instead choosing to contemplatively swirl the scotch in his glass.

"So our deal is done," Jones said. "A 50/50 split, just like we arranged. I'll take Veronica home now."

"Ha!" I scoffed, a bit louder than I intended. "What makes you think she'd go anywhere with you, after what you've put her through?"

Both Tweedledum and Jones glared at me, but Two Face didn't even glance in my direction.

Jones ran his hands through his dark hair. (I'm pleased to report that it definitely looked like his hair was thinning.) He gave no sign that he recognized me from our encounter at his engagement party so many months ago.

"Veronica will understand that I had to save my business," he mumbled, more to himself than to me. "Besides, she won't want any of her friends to know her own husband was behind this."

I really did _not_ like this man. And not just because he had once smacked me in the face.

"You keep telling yourself that, _sugar_."

"Enough."

It was only one word, but it came from Two Face's bad side, the growly, don't-mess-with-me-or-I'll-feed-you-to-a-crocodile side.

I snapped my mouth shut.

"Harley, go and get Mrs. Jones."

I didn't like it, but I did as I was bade. In the cramped confines of the janitor's closet I untied her feet and then the gag in her mouth.

"What's going on?" She asked me.

I had never told her my name.

"Your loving husband is here to get you."

She gasped. "Jackson is here?"

"Yep." I helped her to her feet and took her arm. I knew her muscles would be stiff from sitting so long. "Let's go say 'hello.'"

I marched Veronica back into the main part of the theater.

At least Jones had the brains not to rush to her side. Even with her hands tied behind her back, she was the picture of bruised and elegant distain.

"Darling, are you all right?" He asked solicitously.

And Mrs. Vreeland-Jones, bless her heart, spat right in his face. With me still hanging off her arm, she lunged at him.

Two Face laughed.

I don't know if you've ever heard Two Face laugh. That was the first time I ever had, and let me tell you, it's not an experience I'd care to repeat.

It's a horrible sound, like barbed wire caught in a blender.

It was enough to freeze Veronica in her tracks. Even Tweedledum gaped at him.

While the rest of us were standing there the boss reached into his pocket and produced his coin.

"I appreciate you following my instructions so closely, Mr. Jones," Two Face said, finally rising from his seat. The boss was a big man, and his now-menacing presence seemed to penetrate every corner of the room.

He flicked his coin into the air, catching it a split second later in his large hand.

"But I've decided to reopen negotiations."

Catch. Toss. Catch. Toss.

Jones' mouth dropped open. "You…you can't do that."

Catch. Toss. Catch. Toss.

"I can." Two Face paused and held up the coin, so that the young playboy could see it clearly.

"Heads, you walk out of here with one million dollars and your wife."

"Tails," he continued, "I keep the money…and your wife."

_Oh, boy_.

Jones looked horrified. Veronica looked, as you might imagine, even more horrified.

Even I was surprised.

The coin took one final, glittering spin through the air.

I knew how it would land.

Two Face caught it, and then held it out in his palm so the rest of us could see the results.

It was tails.

"You son of a…"

Jones dove at him.

But Tweedledum was clearly expecting this. The thug tackled the millionaire, and pinned him to the ground.

Jones whimpered and kicked like a little girl, but he couldn't free himself.

Two Face grabbed the bag of money and held it out to Mrs. Vreeland-Jones. Through the bag's gapping zipper I could see the piles of green bills, shoved in as carelessly as dirty laundry.

He gestured for me to step out of the way. I did, and he approached his captive.

"Two million dollars," he said to her in his raspy voice. "Enough for you to start over."

Thinking back on it now, I think the boss was, in his own strange way, actually shooting for a romantic gesture.

But the heiress only shuddered.

"Keep the money," she breathed. "I want nothing to do with it…or him," she said, glancing at her prostrate husband. "Or with you."

"That's not for you to decide." Two Face reached into his coat, where I knew he always wore a pistol in a side holster.

This was it. The moment I had feared ever since I heard of this idiotic scheme.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"You should learn to take 'no' for an answer," a voice somewhere over our heads said.

I opened one eye just in time to see the Batman drop down into our midst.

I wasn't about to go through that again. I dove for cover behind Two Face's chair.

With the bag of money still in one hand, Two Face grabbed Veronica and pointed the gun at her blond head.

Tweedledum rushed the Batman, and the two collided with a tremendous crash.

It was enough time for Two Face to run for the stairs to the second floor, dragging his hostage with him.

I glanced over at Jones, who remained cowering on the floor.

"Damn, damn, damn!" I swore, and scrabbled to my feet as Two Face's henchmen swung wildly at the Batman.

I rushed after my erstwhile boss.

At the top of the stairs he had gone to the right, reaching the old balcony. Even now, in winter, the air was hot and still. The seats had long since been removed, but the air was still redolent of stale popcorn and chewing gum.

He had Veronica by the balcony's railing, still with the gun in his hand. But she was putting up quite a fight, kicking and scratching at him with her bound hands. The bag of money split open, spilling piles of bills across the scarred floor.

"Boss, wait!" I told him.

I don't think he heard me.

Then a black blur rushed past me, and straight into Two Face.

The combined weight of all three people was too much for the old wood railing behind them. It gave way with a splintering _crack_, and they disappeared over the edge.

I stood still for a split second, certain I had just witnessed the demise of all three of them. After all, it was a good twenty foot drop onto the concrete floor below.

But to my great astonishment, I then heard the unmistakable sound of blows being landed.

I cautiously approached the edge, and glanced down.

Sure enough, both Two Face and the Batman were still alive, and still going at it.

"Help!" A voice cried from somewhere just below me.

I leaned farther over the edge.

Veronica Vreeland-Jones was dangling from the side of the balcony. It looked like her bound hands had caught the front edge of a decorative cherub. The fat gilt angel was the only thing between her and a quick ride to the floor.

"How did you manage that?" I marveled aloud.

"Shut up and help me!" She cried.

"No need to get bossy," I huffed. I reached down and was able to touch the tops of her fingers. She quickly opened her hands just enough to grasp my fingers with her own. But she still did not let go of her wooden savior.

"Okey dokey, I think I've got you," I said cheerfully. "You can let go now."

She didn't. Instead I was stuck staring down at her and, beyond her, at the Batman and Two Face slugging it out.

"This theater is almost a hundred years old," I told her. "I really don't think that poor little cherub can stand up to this much abuse."

As if on cue, the decoration creaked ominously. It was the sound of nails pulling out of dry wood.

"Veronica?" I tried again. "Life is all about timing..."

"Shut up, shut up!" She gasped, her eyes tightly closed. Then she took a deep breath.

"OK. I'm going to let go now. Just don't drop me."

Her fingers flexed again, and a moment later I had both of her hands in mine. I'm sure Veronica regularly hit the gym, but her dead weight still nearly pulled me right over the edge with her. I dug my heels into the wood and steadied myself.

"Pull me up," she cried.

But I was thinking.

"It looks like I'm out of a job," I said contemplatively.

"What?"

"I think old Bats is winning down there. That means I'm out of a job."

"Just pull me up, you stupid bitch!"

"Well, there's no need to be rude," I huffed. "A gal's got to think of her future."

"What the hell does that mean?"

I glanced over my shoulder at the scattered money. "I need a backup plan, Mrs. Jones."

"_Miss Vreeland_," she corrected icily. "Just as soon as you pull me up and I get to a divorce lawyer."

"Yeah? Good for you. Anyhoo, considering all the valuable services I've provided, and that I'm saving your life and all, I wonder if you'd care to make a contribution?"

Like I said, Veronica was a lot of things, but dumb wasn't one of them.

"Pull me up and I'll make sure you're set for life. I even promise not to press charges."

Her hands were getting slippery with sweat.

"Uh uh." I shook my head. "Maybe _you_ won't, but I bet your daddy will."

"Look, what the hell do you want?"

I glanced over my shoulder again.

"Fifty gs," I decided. "You won't even miss it."

"Twenty-five," she quickly countered.

I arched my brows. "You're bargaining? Seriously? You're not really in a position…"

"Thirty," she tried again. "Thirty thousand."

"Wait, how'd we get from fifty to thirty? Don't I get to counter or something?"

"Thirty, and you can walk out of here right now with my blessing!"

"Really?" I grinned. "With your blessing?"

Her hands were beginning to slip in mine.

"Yes. Now just take the deal!" She shrieked.

I didn't really need to think it over. As you may have noticed, I'm not the kind of girl who spends a lot of time thinking things over.

"Deal," I said.

I leaned back, so I had better leverage, and with all my strength pulled until Veronica's fair head appeared again over the edge. I ended up having to bend down and wrap my arms under her shoulders to get her safely back onto relatively solid ground.

We both sat there, gasping, for a long moment.

"I hate you," she wheezed.

"Right back at you, sister," I laughed.

---

One guess about where I decided to go after I slipped out of the old theater, my red and black dress and my new nest egg stuffed into my old green purse.

The Batman must have notified the Gotham P.D. of his whereabouts, because a dozen or so squad cars came screaming up to the front entrance just as I took off down the alley.

I didn't know if Two Face had gotten away or not. I suspected that he hadn't. And hopefully Tweedledum and Tweedledumber would soon be in custody, too.

The only thing I regretted having to leave behind was my motorcycle. But I could always steal another one.

It was bitterly cold, and the moon hung low and full in the sky. Wearing only my halter-top dress I shivered as a walked through the empty streets.

But I felt free, more free than I had in a long while.

I first went back to Funland Amusement Park.

I tore the skirt of my dress scaling the fence. But it was deserted. Inside our old hideout there was still plenty of graffiti and overturned furniture to mark our former presence, but the stillness indicated Mr. J had not been there in some weeks.

I next tried the old loft where Mr. J and I had first set up housekeeping.

He wasn't there, either.

Finally, tired, cold, and sore, I limped back down to the river. My high-heeled shoes started to rub blisters, so I took them off and carried them in one hand.

The Laughing Fish bar was still just as it had been that first night: grimy, forlorn, and forgotten.

As I pushed open the door and stepped into the semi-darkness, however, I noted it was a lot quieter than it had been. In fact there weren't more than half a dozen henchmen inside, several of them so young they looked fresh out of high school.

Mercifully, as my eyes adjusted I saw Lewis and Buster seated at a table, playing cards.

"Harley!" Lewis jumped to his feet when he saw me. "Holy shit! We figured you were in a shallow grave somewhere."

"Hey, Lewis, hey, Buster," I said half-heartedly.

Frantic whines drew my attention to the corner by the bar. I saw my babies, chained up but straining to get loose and greet me. Fatigue forgotten, I rushed to them and was rewarded with sloppy doggy kisses.

"Why are my babies tied up?" I demanded.

"They've been snapping at everybody, even Mr. J," Lewis explained. He was still staring at me, as if he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

"Nonsense. They're just widdle idle babies, aren't they?" I crooned to them, happily stroking their ugly heads.

I looked around at the other henchmen. I didn't recognize any of them except Buster and Lewis.

"What's with the junior varsity squad?" I asked.

Buster shrugged his massive shoulders. "Things have been a bit slow," he admitted. "And the boss has, um…"

"He's in bad shape, Harley," Lewis admitted quietly to me. "He hasn't been eating, and I don't think he's been sleeping, either. He's killed three of our guys in the last two weeks, so it's been kinda hard to recruit."

"Harley!"

Oh, music to my frozen little ears!

Joker appeared from out of one of the back rooms. He was glaring at me.

"Where the hell have you been?" He demanded.

I could see what Lewis meant. Even under the make-up Mr. J looked more haggard than usual, and his shoulders were slumped.

"I've been out, Mr. J," I told him.

"_Huh_," was all he said. Then he turned his back on me and disappeared again.

I wasn't about to let him go that easily.

I reached into my purse and produced a stack of bills. I handed them to Lewis.

"Lewis, take the henchmen out and get some beers or some strippers or whatever," I instructed. "I'll take care of Mr. J."

Lewis grinned widely. "You got it, Harl."

He snapped his fingers at the others. "You heard the woman. Let's go."

As they trooped out into the cold night Lewis paused and squeezed my upper arm.

"Glad you're back," he told me.

"Right back at you," I said.

Once they were gone I locked the door and turned off the lights. I settled the babies down for the night. Then I walked over to the door Mr. J had gone through.

I found him sitting on the edge of a bare mattress. Dirty clothes and knives were strewn everywhere. Evidently his headquarters had been moved here in some haste.

He looked irritable and a little confused.

_My poor Mr. J._

"What do you want, Harley?" He asked me.

I stepped up closer, so he couldn't avoid looking at me.

"I wanted to show you something."

I turned around, reached up and untied the straps of my halter top. I wiggled it down just enough so that he could see my bare back. There, in permanently raised letters, was his name.

_Joker_.

"I wanted you to see that it's all healed up," I said over my shoulder.

As if he didn't quite recognize his signature, he tentatively reached out and laid a gloved hand on the scars.

Darts of pleasure from the contact zipped up my spine. I turned back around to face him.

"Do you remember the night you did that, Mr. J?" I asked him.

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then he did something quite extraordinary. He placed his hands on my waist and pulled me to him, burying his face against my tummy. He held onto me so tightly that for a moment my breath was knocked out.

When I'd recovered I reached down and stroked his lank green hair.

"It's OK, baby," I soothed. "I'm here now. Everything's going to be fine."

And, for a time, it was.

---

---

_That night, when Mr. J and I had made love, it had been like we were a real couple._

Even now, almost a year later, I still dreamed about it.

And I woke up in agony.

At first I thought it was just emotional agony, but when a wrenching cramp doubled me over I quickly realized this was real, physical pain.

Curled into a fetal position on the cot in my cell at Arkham, I yelled feebly for the guards.

Centered in my abdomen, the pain was blinding, searing. It seemed like an eternity before they appeared.

"Do you think she's faking it?" I dimly heard one say to another as they stood over me.

"Doubt it. There's tears running out of her eyes," the other one said.

They loaded me onto a stretcher, a move that made me scream out a very un-ladylike obscenity, and dutifully trundled me up to the infirmary.

The doctor, who looked grumpy even when she _hadn't_ been rousted out of her bed in the middle of the night, pressed down experimentally on my side.

I nearly passed out.

"She has all the symptoms of appendicitis," the doctor said grudgingly. She looked down at me. It seemed as if she was very far away. "On a scale of one to ten, what's your pain level?"

"Twenty-three. Morphine?" I wheezed hopefully. "A club to the head? Please?"

"So do we call an ambulance?" One of the guards asked.

"Yes," I gasped.

"No," the doctor said. "I can't do that without checking with Dr. Rodriquez first. And no way am I waking _her_ up in the middle of the night."

"What if she dies in the meantime?"

"She won't." I have no idea why the doctor sounded so confident. But she did. "I'll set up a pain drip, and that should get Quinzel through the night."

I wanted to protest, but I didn't have the strength.

Instead I just sighed as the IV was jammed into my arm, and floated off into oblivion.


	11. Chapter 11

The Madness of Two

Ch. 11: Mr. J (Again)

My mouth was as dry as the Sahara, the Mojave, and the Serengeti rolled into one.

They weren't letting me have any food or liquids. Instead they'd hooked an IV up to my arm, to keep me hydrated along with supplying pain meds.

But it wasn't the same.

So I'd been lying in the Arkham infirmary for the better part of a day now, fantasizing about grape popsicles and long, cool classes of lemonade, root beer floats and bathtubs full of ice water…

The asylum administrator, Dr. Rodriquez, had looked in on me around noon. She had had a hushed conversation with the doctor.

I'd heard every word, of course.

"I'm sorry, but the notes in Quinzel's files are very clear," she had explained to the doctor. "She can't be moved without proper clearance."

"So call the Gotham PD and get clearance. If it _is_ appendicitis, I don't want a rupture on my record," the doctor had retorted. "Malpractice insurance is expensive enough as it is."

"Permission has to come from the Commissioner himself, and he's at some law enforcement conference in Star City." Dr. Rodriquez' eyes had briefly met mine, and she looked almost apologetic. "They're trying to track him down now."

"So what the hell do I do with Quinzel?"

"Just keep her comfortable. It should only be a few more hours."

_A few more hours_. And that had been hours ago.

I smacked my hopelessly dry lips together.

My only consolation was that, if I did die, they would all be sorry.

---

I must have drifted off, because when I next opened my eyes it was dark outside.

Something was wrong. The whole asylum felt…wrong.

The unusual stillness was broken by a howl. Deep, and crazed, and guttural, it was definitely coming from inside the building. While normally howling wasn't that unusual in a hospital for the criminally insane, this sounded awfully close. And the hospital was in the administration wing, nowhere near the patients' rooms.

I thought for a moment that it had to be the pain meds. Was I hallucinating?

But then it came again, quickly followed by another voice (female?) shrieking with uncontrolled laughter.

I could hear class breaking, and footsteps running back and forth. But there were no alarms, no shouts from the guards.

I didn't like this one bit.

I pulled the IV out of my arm.

Another scream, this one much closer, raised the hair on the back of my neck.

I knew I was locked in the hospital room, but that didn't mean I had to be a sitting duck for whatever was out there.

Trying my best to preserve my modesty in my open-backed hospital gown, I slipped off the bed and rolled under it.

I felt a bit safer under there.

I hunkered down, and waited to see what would happen.

---

---

---

Mr. J's organization had declined a bit in my absence.

From what Lewis told me, there hadn't been any big heists, or other major crime sprees. That was the other reason we were a bit short on henchmen at the moment—no big sprees, no payouts, and henchmen were a fickle bunch.

As far as I could tell, Joker was still working on whatever plan he'd been toying with when we split up. But it appeared to have stalled a bit.

My thirty thousand dollars helped fix that. I happily handed it over to him as his Christmas present, along with a gold pocket watch I had lifted from an exclusive antiques store. He patted me affectionately on the head.

I mean, sure, I'd told Veronica Vreeland the cash was for my nest egg, but if you think about it, my little nest was right here. Why shouldn't those funds go to feather it a bit, so to speak?

And, oh, it did me good to see him busy again, with his chemicals and his knives and his schemes!

I was going to see that Mr. J was back on top, and me right along with him.

---

I sat patiently behind the wheel of Mr. J's Cadillac. I had parked in downtown Gotham, a few blocks from City Hall, just as Joker had instructed me

I was absolutely giddy with anticipation as I sat there, watching the business people bustle up and down the street. Now that the holidays were over, everyone was back to the daily grind.

And, no, I didn't know exactly what was going to happen. I never do. Mr. J never shares the entirety if his plans with anyone.

But each of us had our roles to play.

One of the newer, baby-faced henchmen, Zack, came skittering around the corner. He still wore the blue blazer and security badge of City Hall staff.

He hastily yanked open the passenger door and jumped inside.

I'd been expecting him, and peeling away from the curb the moment his feet and his duffle bag hit the floorboards.

I could tell the poor kid was new to crime. His face was white and he looked unusually sweaty.

"Relax," I told him cheerfully. "Your part of the job's done, right?"

"Yeah," he breathed shakily.

"Aces," I beamed.

I drove down to the river and parked in a vacant lot.

"What are we doing here?" The kid asked as I jumped out.

"I want to see what's going to happen, don't you?"

He shook his head. "No."

I laughed. "C'mon, silly. It's part of the fun."

I went around to his side, opened his door, and grabbed his arm to pull him out. As he reluctantly obliged his feet caught on the duffle bag, knocking it out of the car and into the dirt.

Several small canisters rolled out around our feet.

Curious, I glanced down at them. Even in the filthy snow I could read the labels clearly.

Rubidium hydroxide.

Uh, oh.

_I need a base_, Mr. J had said. _Something to trigger the right reaction. Otherwise you've just got acid and fizz and a lot of bang for no bucks._

I seized Zack by the shirt collar.

"What did you do? I mean, what didn't you do?" I demanded.

He didn't even try and pull away.

I took a deep breath. "What did Mr. J tell you to do?"

"I couldn't do it, Harley," he began to sniffle, his eyes growing red. "I just couldn't. Please…"

_Oh, this was bad. Very, very, very bad._

"What did Mr. J tell you to do?" I shrieked.

"I was supposed to hide the canisters at certain points all over the building, where Buster could find them," the boy admitted. "But there were school tours going in…Joker was going to blow up City Hall! Harley, I couldn't…couldn't let him…"

I don't think I'd ever been as angry as I was at that moment.

"How _dare_ you!" I seized a fistful of the boy's hair. "It's not for you to second guess Mr. J!" I yelled at him. "We _never_ second guess Mr. J!"

I shoved him away from me. He sprawled on the ground.

"Do you have any idea what you've done!?"

"I was born in Gotham City!" He sobbed openly. "I know you were, too! All those people would have died! And now I'm going to die, too, because Joker's going to kill me."

"No, he's not." I reached down into my stocking and produced my .22. "Because I am."

He half-heartedly scooted backwards as I leveled the gun at him. He didn't even try to run.

"I'm a thief, not a murderer," he wept. "And I couldn't do it. I'm sorry."

"You're going to be."

"Better you than _him_," Zack told me. He wiped his dripping nose on his sleeve, leaving a long trail of snot on the blue fabric. "You'll do it quick."

He squeezed his eyes shut.

I held the gun on him for several long moments.

He was pathetic.

A real henchman would have run, or at least tried to wrestle the gun from me. Then I would have shot him without thinking twice about it.

But this…this was like killing Bambi.

I didn't like it.

After a moment one of Zack's eyes opened again.

"Harley?" He whispered.

"Shut up," I told him. "I'm thinking."

Finally, finally, I eased the hammer back down.

"Get up," I told him.

He just started at me.

"Get up!" I hollered at the top of my lungs.

He scrambled to his feet.

"I'm not going to shoot you," I told him. "So you better start running. And you'd better never stop, or Joker will catch up with you."

I cocked my head to one side. "To be perfectly honest, he'll probably catch up with you anyway. But I'm not going to waste a bullet on you. So get moving."

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Don't thank me," I said grimly. "I'm going to be sorry, soon enough."

---

"_You did_ WHAT?"

"I know you're angry, Mr. J, and I don't blame you one bit," I said apologetically. "It's unforgivable, it really it."

It had not taken Joker long to realize a critical link in his plan had gone awry. And when he did, he came looking for Zack. And when he couldn't find Zack, he came for me.

Prepared for a scene, I'd already tied the babies up out back. Even now I could hear them whimpering. They hated it when Mr. J raised his voice, almost as much as I did.

Lewis, Buster, and the other henchmen hovered uncertainly around of the room. None of them dared move, lest they attract Mr. J's attention, and potentially his wrath, too.

Joker had backed me into a corner. I had no choice but to gaze steadily up at him.

"Do you know, Harley, how long I worked on this plan?" He now said silkily.

"Months, Mr. J," I said softly.

"Months," he agreed. "Months. And the other components can't be recovered, did you know that? Even the Gotham P.D., as slow as they are, will have found them by now."

"I understand," I said.

And I did. I really did.

He reached out and grabbed a hold of my hair.

"I'm a patient man, Harley, but even I do have my limits."

"I know you do, Mr. J."

I had braced myself, but I couldn't help but wince a bit as his fingers dug into my scalp.

Lewis then did a very foolish thing. He stepped forward.

"Boss, what if we…"

So fast I almost didn't see the movement, Joker leveled his gun at his most trusted henchman.

"Not another word, Lewis."

Joker spoke serenely. The Glasgow smile was stretched into a wide grin, but the gloved hand on the gun was steady.

Lewis looked from me to Mr. J's gun and back again. His lips parted a bit.

"You heard Mr. J, Lewis," I said softly. "Not another word."

Finally my friend nodded, and stepped back.

With a jerk of his head he gestured for the other henchmen to follow, and they trooped out of the old bar.

I still don't remember much of what followed.

What I do remember is waking up on the bathroom floor. The rising sun could just be seen through the grim-encrusted little window. I must have crawled in there at some point, but I had obviously been out for hours.

The tile felt blessedly cool.

I unsteadily pulled myself to my feet, and carefully dabbed at the blood caked in the corner of my mouth.

Then I went to fix Mr. J's breakfast.

---

---

---

My legs were growing cramped from sitting in one position for so long, but I wasn't about to abandon my little make-shift shelter under the bed.

The noise outside was growing louder, a mixture of raving and screaming and banging and crashing that should have been enough to wake the dead in the Asylum's cemetery.

The only thing that made my wait bearable was that I didn't seem to be in pain any more. In fact, I felt just fine.

Could an appendix heal on its own?

I heard a key scrape in the door lock, and huddled deeper under the bed. What I wouldn't give for my knife now! I'd even settle for my good old brick.

With an electronic hum the overhead fixture flickered on, and the room was flooded with ghostly white light.

"Harley?"

I sat up straighter, banging my head against the underside of the hospital bed.

"Red? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me. Where are you?"

"Here." I stuck out an arm and waggled my fingers at her.

A moment later her face appeared, peering down at me.

"What are you doing under there?"

"Can't you hear it? Something horrible is going on out there!"

Ivy only shook her head, and yanked me out of my hiding place.

I immediately flung my arms around her. "Thank god you're all right!"

She pushed me away.

"Don't be a baby, Harley," she scolded. "There isn't time." She held out a brown paper bag. "Get dressed, quickly."

I blinked under the fluorescent lights, but accepted the bag. To my astonishment it contained my red and black dress, the one I had been wearing when the Gotham P.D. had arrested me a year ago.

"Where did you find it?" I marveled.

"There's a property room where they keep all of our personal effects," she told me. "Now shut up and hurry."

For the first time I realized that she was wearing street clothes, not the standard issue orange jumpsuit.

I wiggled into my old dress. It smelled a bit musty, but it was nice to be back in something familiar.

"We can't go out there, Red," I warned her. "The whole asylum's gone crazier than usual."

"Yes, it has."

Something in her tone made me look at her sharply.

"Ivy? Did you do this?"

She tossed her long red hair. "Of course I did. I told you I was going to escape, didn't I?"

We cautiously stepped out into the hallway.

The only person out there was an orderly. But he took no notice of us. Instead he just continued slowly and rhythmically banging his head against the wall.

I couldn't help but wince. "Jeez, Red, what did you do?"

"_Datura stramonium." _She said proudly.

"Gesundheit."

She rolled her eyes. "It's a plant, Harley. That tall, bushy herb that grows near the back of the garden. The one with white flowers?"

"That smells sort of like spoiled peanut butter?" I asked.

"That's it. One of its common names is jimsonweed. Very powerful hallucinogenic."

"Yeah, I guess it is." I thought this over for a moment. "But how'd you get everyone to eat it?"

"I didn't," she said smugly. "It's in the water supply. The water coolers, too. Everyone's been drinking it for the last twenty-four hours—patients, staff, everyone. Except you."

"Only because they wouldn't let me have…" I bit my lip. "Hang on. I didn't have appendicitis, did I?"

"No. Just a very mild case of oleander poisoning. I slipped a few leaves into your salad at lunch yesterday. Don't worry, though--I was very careful with the dosage. Your body has already metabolized it, so you won't be having any other side effects."

I looked at her for a long moment.

"They're right, Red," I finally said. "You really are kind of a bitch."

"I know." She smiled proudly. "Now let's get out of here."


	12. Chapter 12

The Madness of Two

Author's note: Here it is, kiddies, finally: the last chapter. Thanks to all of you for hanging in 'til the end! And, once again, some of the dialog is lifted from _Batman: Harley Quinn_.

Ch. 12: Poison Ivy

After a few weeks my bruises began to fade.

I went back to work.

Mr. J's plan to blow up City Hall may have been foiled, but on the bright side it only increased the city's fear of him. And that made it easier for us to resume our usual activities.

The Gotham P.D. looked even more pathetically helpless than usual. The Batman was lying low. And now even the most hardened gangsters crossed to the other side of the street when they saw us coming.

Good times.

---

"Harley!"

His voice had no trouble penetrating the thin walls of the old bar.

"Coming, Mr. J!"

I set aside the iron I had been using and lovingly hung up Joker's freshly pressed shirt. I considered it part of my job to keep the place, and Mr. J, tidy.

I left the bedroom and found the rest of the gang waiting expectantly for me.

Joker tossed me the car keys. "You're driving."

"Yes, sir," I beamed.

He hadn't let me drive since…well, never mind that. He obviously wasn't mad at me anymore.

With Lewis in the passenger seat, and Mr. J in the back, we drove into downtown Gotham. The other henchmen followed in another car.

It was after midnight, and the early spring moon hung low in the sky. It had rained earlier in the day, washing away what was left of the grubby snow.

We pulled up outside a construction site and quickly exited the car.

"Come with me," Joker said.

Lewis obviously had been here before; he came armed with a heavy-duty flashlight. He popped it on as soon as we were inside the gutted building, and the beams reflected off of scaffolding and piles of lumber and wallboard.

I looked around at the ghostly remnants of what had obviously once been a grand lobby of some sort. Shadowy murals painted on the walls depicted Gotham City's early history, with old Wayne Manor occupying pride of place in the center.

"Oooh, pretty! I hope they keep those," I said idly while we waited for the rest of the henchmen to catch up.

"They won't," Mr. J said, adjusting his gloves. "They never do."

We descended down two flights of stairs into the bowels of the building. I supposed this had once been the sub-basement. But now the hallway had been mysteriously extended, turning into a tunnel that cut sharply to the left.

Buster pushed past me carrying a canister with a fuse.

"You guys have been busy," I marveled.

"Oh, you have no idea the things we get up to, Harley." Mr. J took hold of my upper arm. "Now move back, before you get flattened by the debris."

"You're always so considerate, Mr. J," I smiled.

The light wasn't very good, so I couldn't be sure, but I think Lewis may have rolled his eyes at that.

Everyone except Buster pushed into the opposite end of the hall, near the stairs. A moment later Buster dashed down to join us.

I covered my ears.

It wasn't a huge blast, more of a muffled _whomp_ than a real explosion. But I could tell by the clouds of dust that rolled down towards us that it had done its job.

Lewis went first, carefully picking his way through broken concrete.

"We're through," he called back to us.

"Excellent. Harley, if you will?" Mr. J still had a hold of my arm, and he now pushed me a bit ahead of him.

We followed the beam from Lewis' flashlight, and I could now see that the tunnel had broken through a wall, into the basement of another building. We must have punched through to the other side of the city block.

Curious, I looked around me. Lining either side of the room were solid metal fences, protecting row upon row of tiny drawers. At the opposite end of the room was a round metal door.

I had seen enough movies to know we were on the lower level of a bank.

The henchmen moved quickly into place. One set began drilling into the steel vault door. The other quickly cut through the mental fences, and began emptying out the safety deposit boxes.

I stayed next to Mr. J, far away from the whirring drills and the blowtorches.

"We're through, boss," one of the men finally called. With a spin of the handle, the vault door swung open.

Unable to contain my curiosity, I followed them into the cramped space, standing on tiptoes so I could see over the men's shoulders. Someone flicked a switch, and the overhead light and air vent came on, easing the stuffiness a bit.

The space was largely empty, save for a shelf along the back. Sitting on it were rows of brick-shaped objects that glinted ever so slightly in the light.

I gasped. "Is that what I think it is?"

Buster pushed past me with a canvas sack. "Yep."

"Gold bullion," Joker explained. "It was stored down here during World War II, as backup for the war bonds the government issued. Afterwards the bank held on to it, to back its own investments."

"And now it's going to back ours," Lewis said with a grin.

"Go and help, Harley," Mr. J nudged me.

"Right. Of course."

I helped Lewis and the other men load them up. Each gold brick was wrapped carefully but efficiently before being dropped into sacks. I have to say I was already imagining what they would buy: a new place, fully furnished, and a new lab for Mr. J…

"You really are the cleverest man I know," I told him admiringly.

"I know," he said. Joker pulled out the pocket watch I had given him for Christmas. "Five minutes, boys."

"Yes, boss," they responded.

As quickly as we had arrived the job was done. Henchmen had already started trundling their heavy burdens back down the tunnel.

As we stepped out of the vault, Mr. J brushed imaginary dust off his purple gloves.

"Now _that_," he said to no one in particular, "was a good night's work. Harley, shut off that light so we can leave."

"Yes, Mr. J," I said obediently.

I stepped back into the vault and reached for the switch.

That was when the heavy door slammed shut behind me.

---

I banged on the vault door until the skin on my hands was raw.

I screamed until my voice was hoarse.

But no matter how loud I yelled, or how hard I pounded, the door remained firmly shut.

I was beginning to think no one could hear me.

The vent fan was still spinning, so I knew I wasn't in any immediately danger of suffocating. I was more afraid of the minutes slipping away. Mr. J always timed his crimes down to the last second. Surely the Gotham P.D. was already on its way…

I glanced around me, desperately looking for another way out.

And there I saw it.

A folded piece of paper, pinned to the wall with a switchblade.

In all the excitement over the heist, had I missed it before?

I cautiously went over to it. Now I was closer, I could see my name scrawled across the front. "Harley" was written in uneven red letters.

I recognized the handwriting immediately.

I knew he wouldn't have forgotten me.

I snatched it down and began reading it eagerly.

_Dear Harley—_

_I just wanted to take some time and talk about where our relationship is going. You see, over the past few months, I've felt some changes coming over me since you entered my life. I've been reminded of what it's like to be part of a couple, to care for someone who cares for me. It's the first time in recent memory I've had those feelings._

_And I HATE having those feelings! They're upsetting, confusing and worse, distracting me from getting my share of Gotham now that the getting's good. I will always treasure our days together, but sadly, inevitably, the time has come for us to part. Farewell my sweet Harley Quinn. _

_Love, Joker_

Across the bottom he'd scrawled, in larger letters, "Ha ha ha."

---

I sank to the floor.

It couldn't be.

Could it?

_Oh, Mr. J, how could you?_

---

The door to the vault blew off the hinges.

A moment later the Batman towered over me.

I guess he's used a bat bomb or a bat grenade or whatever the heck he called it.

I looked up at him, Mr. J's letter crumpled in my fist.

I'd been weeping pitifully ever since I had found it, too devastated to even try and escape.

My mascara was running down my face, and I desperately needed a tissue.

But Bats was clearly not in a sensitive mood.

He grabbed me by the collar and lifted me into the air—not a difficult feat when he was so much bigger than me.

"Where is he?" Batman growled. "Where's Joker?"

I took a deep breath.

"I don't know. But when you find him, you tell me—BECAUSE I AM GOING TO KILL HIM!" I screamed.

All of my grief and hurt was suddenly giving way to white-hot rage. I screamed and screamed, kicking at the Batman's shins. For once I wasn't trying to hurt him—I just had to lash out at something, anything.

Batman wisely put me down.

"HOW CAN HE DO THIS TO ME?" I wailed, dropping down to my knees. "HOW? I AM GOING TO KILL HIM!"

I screamed, again and again. The sound echoed and reechoed in the small space, making it sound as if there were a dozen grieving Harleys in the room.

If there had been anything left in the vault I would have torn it to pieces. I settled for tearing the letter into tiny, tiny pieces and throwing them across the room. They were immediately sucked into the ventilation fan and turned into confetti.

Even that didn't make me feel any better.

The Batman stepped aside and let me wear myself out.

I have no idea what he thought I was doing.

I didn't care.

Mr. J had left me.

I was alone.

Again.

_My world would be so dark without him._

---

My heart began to beat out a staccato rhythm in my chest.

_Make him pay, Harley_, it seemed to say. _You're the one who helped put him back on top. Make him pay._

Oh, yes.

I sniffled.

_Make him pay_.

---

The Batman didn't lay a hand on me again. Instead he waited for the Gotham P.D. to arrive.

I think my hysterics made him extremely uncomfortable. Issues with women, much?

But he stuck it out like a trooper.

I don't know what he said to the cops.

They handled me very carefully.

I was too exhausted from crying and screaming to even stand. When the officers came in all I could do was look blankly at them.

With her colleagues' guns trained on me, a female officer finally gave me a quick pat down where I sat. She confiscated the blade that had pinned Joker's note to the wall. Then she helped me to my feet.

I leaned heavily on her. She looked a little alarmed, but didn't pull away.

I limped ignominiously out of the vault and out of the bank.

Outside was complete chaos: numerous police cruisers, crowds of people, and a lot of yelling.

Looked like Mr. J's heist had been successful. Damn him.

The officer sat me down on the rear bumper of an ambulance. She quickly drew a blanket around me. I think it was as much to hide my instantly recognizable outfit as to keep me warm.

I slumped there, too wounded to move.

_What was I going to do without him? _

_What the hell was I going to do?_

---

"Dr. Quinzel?"

It had been so long since I had heard that name that it took me a minute to realize someone was speaking to me.

They had taken me back to police headquarters and left me in one of the interrogation rooms. I was cuffed to the chair by one arm, but I wouldn't have tried to escape anyway.

It was much too late for that.

I finally looked up, and saw Commissioner Gordon standing over me.

"Hi," I offered feebly.

"Dr. Quinzel—"

"You can call me Harley." I used the back of my free hand to wipe half-heartedly at my make-up streaked cheeks. "Everybody does."

He handed me a tissue, and I moped my face as best I could.

"Ask her."

The voice came out of the darkness. Then the figure emerged, unwrapping itself from the shadows in the far side of the room.

The Batman. How long had he been in here? Had I been that out of it?

I should have said something cocky, but I didn't. I couldn't even think of anything appropriate.

My heart was broken. I'd never be witty again.

"Dr.—Harley." Gordon pulled over a chair and sat down. "Joker left you behind, didn't he?"

Out of sheer habit, I opened my mouth to defend Mr. J.

But I couldn't.

"Yes," I said after a long moment. "He did."

The Commissioner looked at the collection of bruises and scars on my forearms, clearly visible under the pale fluorescent lights. He winced.

"I'm sorry," he told me.

"No, you're not," I retorted. "I wouldn't feel sorry for me, if I was in your shoes."

"You're angry at Joker," the Batman said. It was a statement, not a question.

I shot him a withering glance. "Ya think?"

Gordon leaned forward.

"We want to know if you'd be willing to testify against him. Give us what you know about the Joker. I think that, if you cooperate with us, the District Attorney would probably be willing to cut you a deal."

I looked seriously at the Commissioner.

"I want a lawyer, Mr. Gordon. A lawyer, and a cheese sandwich. And then I'll tell you everything you ever wanted to know about the Joker."

Gordon, looking pleased, glanced over his shoulder at the Batman.

"Hell hath no fury," the Batman said.

"You got that right, buster," I told him.

---

That evening I spent the night in lockup.

It wasn't so bad. I had a cell all to myself, and even though I was still in my grimy dress and smeared make-up I slept like a baby.

The next morning they brought me back up to the interview room. This time my new court appointed lawyer, a fierce-looking woman with skin the color of a moccachino, was there, as was a rather scrawny young D.A.

I sat quietly in the corner while the two lawyers and Commissioner Gordon discussed me in whispers.

"I need Quinzel to tell us what she knows," Gordon was saying. "She's far more valuable to us as a witness than as a suspect."

"Her arrest made the morning papers," the baby-faced D.A. retorted. "Since you still haven't gotten the Joker back in custody, they're howling for her blood."

"And we're not going to catch _him_ without _her_ help," Gordon shot back.

"Look, she's been sleeping with the Joker," the public defender said curtly. "No jury in the world is going to find her competent to stand trial."

The D.A. was clearly taken aback.

"You don't know that she was sleeping with him."

My lawyer rolled her eyes.

"Oh, grow up," she told him.

It was to laugh.

I'll admit, it was a bit annoying listening to them discuss me as if I wasn't even in the room. But I preoccupied with other thoughts. Now that some of the shock had worn off and I'd had a good night sleep, I was facing a genuine 24-karat gold moral dilemma.

_Do I roll on Mr. J?_

I knew it would be only too easy to feed the Gotham P.D. a bunch of lies. Mr. J would then remain safe.

_I can't roll on him! I love him. _

_He's the love of my life._

Yeah, the love of my life that had just dumped me for the second time. And landed me in the clink to boot.

_I hate him. I hate him so much it makes the bile rise in the back of my throat._

Besides, Mr. J wasn't stupid. Even now he'd be pulling his operations from their usual haunts, scattering them across the city so, whatever I did, I wouldn't be able to damage his precious criminal operations.

_I gave him everything I had. My heart, my body. My soul._

_And he threw me away like a broken doll. _

No amount of time I ended up with would be worse than what Mr. J had already done to me.

_He may be done playing, but I sure as hell am not._

_Make him pay_.

Yes, I could do this.

I took a deep, steadying breath and cleared my throat.

Three sets of eyes turned my way.

"If you great minds are done talking," I told the assembly, "I'm ready to start."

I leaned back in my chair.

I was Harley Quinn.

And I was going to be just fine.

---

---

---

"And I was," I told Ivy. "The end."

"Huh. That's the way you might end the story, sure," Ivy scoffed. "Never mind that you still ended up doing five-to-ten in Arkham."

"But not in prison," I said, waggling my finger. "Big difference."

We were hiding out in Robinson Park. Due to years of budget cuts, the park was badly overgrown. It was positively jungle-like in some places.

I didn't know if our escape had been discovered yet.

I couldn't hear any choppers or anything. I suspected emergency services, if they'd even reached Arkham yet, still had their hand full dealing with the mass poisoning.

It would be darn near impossible to find us in the park, at least not without a machete and some Agent Orange.

Ivy stood up and brushed off her clothes. "Enough of this waiting around. Let's get moving."

"Moving? Where?"

"I've got a flight waiting to take us to South America. Zombie root, remember? With any luck we'll be at thirty thousand feet before the Gotham P.D. knows we're gone."

"Uh, what do you mean 'we,' Red?" I asked cautiously.

"We. You and I. I need a partner, Harley. You may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but you're handy to have around."

I was genuinely touched.

"Gee, Red. I appreciate you breaking me out of Arkham and everything. But I don't want to run off to the jungle just now. I've got too much to do."

Ivy's mouth twisted angrily. "Yeah? Like what? Crawling back to that pathetic clown?"

"No," I retorted. "But I've never struck out on my own before. I think it's time I did. Besides, I don't know anything about plants, except that I always forget to water them. You don't want me cramping your style."

Ivy looked at me for a long moment, her red hair whipping about in the wind.

"Fine, Harley. Fine. I thought you understood something about loyalty and how we women should stick together. But obviously you don't. So go off on your on, if it makes you happy." She pointed over the tree line. "Downtown Gotham is that way."

I felt awful. Truly, truly awful. Ivy was my friend—the only friend I had.

How could I let her down?

I couldn't.

So instead I jumped up and gave her a hug.

She stiffened a bit in my arms, but she didn't pull away.

I laughed.

"OK, Red. I'll bite. If you want to go to South America, than to South America we go."

"Look, I don't want to force you or anything," she mumbled.

I was growing more enthusiastic by the second.

"C'mon, Ivy. It'll be a blast. Hot sun, tropical drinks, men with moustaches—think of the possibilities!"

"We're going for work, Harley, not for fun," she chastised.

"Yeah, but surely we can squeeze in a little fun, right?" I asked as we started walking.

"No. This is serious business."

"A little fun. An eenie, beanie, little bit of fun." I held my thumb and forefinger a few millimeters apart. "_That _much fun."

Ivy was silent for a long moment.

"Maybe," she finally offered.

I smiled.

"You know, Red, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

And it was.

The End

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